PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


STale, 


j.  H.  BERNARDIN  DE   ST.   PIERRE. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH, 


HARTFORD: 

PUBLISHED  BY  ISAAC  C.  PRAY,  JR. 

MDCCCXXXIV. 


ENTERED  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1834,  by  Isaac  C. 
Pray,  Jr.  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  district  Court  of  Connecticut. 


PRINTED    AT    THE    PEARL    OFFICE, 
MAIN  STREET,   HARTFORD. 


PREFACE, 


THIS  charming  little  romance  has,  indeed,  conferred 
immortality  upon  its  author ;  and,  perhaps,  there 
can  be  bestowed  upon  it  no  greater  commendation. 
Although,  at  first,  received  with  open  coldness  and  dis- 
respect by  the  literary  circle  to  which  it  was  read  by 
its  author,  yet  a  happy  circumstance  having  caused  its 
publication,  Time  —  the  true  test  of  merit  —has  decided 
that  it  is  worthy  of  the  perusal  of  all,  .and  the  finer  feel- 
ings of  the  human  .heart  give  answer  that  its  moral  is 
pure  and  perfect. 

So  numerous  have  been  the  translations  of  this  very 
popular  work,  and  so  often  has  it  been  negligently  and 
inelegantly  rendered,  that  a  more  correct  edition  seemed 
to  be  demanded.  The  publisher  trusts  that  the  present, 
new  edition  will  be  found  more  worthy  of  perusal  than 
those  by  which  it  has  been  preceded.  Considerable  care 
has  been  taken  to  divest  the  language  of  all  coarseness, 
and  to  expurgate  those  portions  of  the  narration  which 
have  been  condemned  by  critics  and  scholars.  It  is  now 


4  PREFACE. 

presented  to  the  public  with  full  confidence,  as  it  is  be- 
lieved to  be  free  from  all  those  faults  which  have,  here- 
tofore, had  a  tendency  to  tarnish  its,  otherwise,  brilliant 
reputation. 

Should  this  edition  of  one  of  the  choicest,  standard 
French  classics,  meet  with  that  encouragement  which  it 
is  the  desire  and  object  of  the  publisher  to  gain,  other 
works  of  the  kind  may  follow,  and  new  tales  of  a  simi- 
lar character  may  be  expected  from  two  or  more  compe- 
tent American  authors. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


IN  the  Isle  of  France,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  mountain  which  rises  behind  Port  Louis, 
upon  a  piece  of  land  bearing  marks  of  former 
cultivation,  are  seen  the  ruins  of  two  small  cot- 
tages. Those  ruins  are  situated  near  the  cen- 
tre of  a  valley  encircled  by  -immense  rocks  open 
only  towards  the  north.  On  the  left  rises  a 
mountain  called  the  Height  of  Discovery,  from 
which  the  eye  can  mark  the  distant  sail  when  it 
first  touches  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  and  on 
whose  top  the  signal  is  given,  when  a  vessel 
approaches  the  island.  At  the  foot  of  this  moun- 
tain is  the  town  of  Port  Louis.  On  the  right  is 
the  road  which  stretches  from  Port  Louis  to  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  where  the  church  bearing 
that  name,  lifts  its  top,  surrounded  by  avenues 
of  bamboo,  in  the  midst  of  a  spacious  plain; 
and  the  prospect  terminates  in  a  forest  extend- 
ing to  the  farthest  bounds  of  the  island.  The 


fi  PAUL    A^D    VIRGINIA. 

front  view  presents  the  bay,  denominated  the 
Bay  of  the  Tomb.  A  little  on  the  right  is  the 
Cape  of  Misfortune,  arid  beyond  rolls  the  ex- 
panded ocean,  on  the  surface  of  which  appear  a 
few  uninhabited  islands,  and,  among  others,  the 
Point  of  Endeavor,  which  resembles  a  bastion 
built  upon  the  sea. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  which  presents 
those  various  objects,  the  echoes  of  the  moun- 
tain incessantly  repeat  the  hollow  murmurs  of 
the  winds  that  shake  the  neighboring  forests, 
and  the  tumultuous  dashing  of  the  waves  which 
break  at  a  distance  upon  the  cliffs.  But  near 
the  ruined  cottages  all  is  calm  and  still;  and 
the  only  objects  which  there  meet  the  eye  are 
rude,  steep  rocks,  that  rise  like  a  surrounding 
rampart.  Large  clumps  of  trees  grow  at  their 
base,  on  their  rifte*d  sides,  and  even  on  their 
majestic  tops,  among  the  reposing  clouds.  The 
showers,  which  their  bold  points  attract,  often 
paint  the  vivid  colors  of  the  rainbow  on  their 
green  and  brown  declivities,  and  swell  the  sour- 
ces of  the  little  river  of  Fan  Palms,  which  flows 
at  their  feet. 

Within  this  inclosure  reigns  the  most  pro- 
found silence.  The  waters,  the  air,  and  all  the 
elements,  are  at  peace.  Scarcely  does  the 
echo  repeat  the  whispers  of  the  palm  trees? 
spreading  their  broad  leaves,  the  long  points  of 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  7 

which  are  gently  balanced  by  the  winds.  A 
soft  light  illuminates  the  bottom  of  this  deep 
valley,  on  which  the  sun  only  shines  at  noon. 
But  even  at  break  of  day,  the  rays  of  light  are 
thrown  on  the  surrounding  rocks,  and  their 
sharp  peaks,  rising  above  the  shadows  of  the 
mountain,  appear  like  tints  of  gold  and  purple, 
gleaming  upon  the  azure  sky. 

To  this  place  I  loved  to  resort,  that  I  might 
enjoy  at  once  the  riches  of  the  extensive  land- 
scape, and  the  charm  of  uninterrupted  solitude. 
One  day  when  I  was  seated  by  the  platform  of 
the  cottages,  while  contemplating  their  ruins,  a 
man,  advanced  in  years,  passed  near  the  spot. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  ancient  garb  of  the  isl- 
and, his  feet  were  bare,  and  he  leaned  upon  a 
staff  of  ebony.  His  hair  was  perfectly  white, 
and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was  dig- 
nified, simple,  and  interesting,  I  bowed  to  him 
with  respect.  He  returned  the  salutation;  and 
after  looking  at  me  with  some  earnestness, 
came  and  placed  himself  upon  the  hillock  where 
I  was  seated.  Encouraged  by  this  mark  of 
confidence,  I  thus  addressed  him: 

'  Father,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  those  cot- 
tages once  belonged?5  '  My  son,  '  replied  the 
old  man,  'those  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  that  un- 
tilled  land,  were  twenty  years  ago  the  property 
of  two  families  who  then  found  happiness  in 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

this  solitude.  Their  history  is  affecting.  But 
what  European,  pursuing  his  way  to  the  Indies, 
will  pause  one  moment  to  interest  himself  in 
the  fate  of  a  few  obscure  individuals?  What 
European  can  picture  happiness  to  his  imagina- 
tion amid  poverty  and  neglect?  The  curiosity 
of  mankind  is  only  attracted  by  the  history  of 
the  great,  and  yet  from  that  knowledge  little  use 
can  be  derived. '  '  Father, '  I  rejoined,  '  from  your 
manner  and  your  observations,  I  perceive  that 
you  have  acquired  much  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  If  you  have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I  be- 
seech you,  the  history  of  the  former  inhabitants 
of  this  desert;  and  be  assured  that  even  the  men 
who  are  most  perverted  by  the  prejudices  of  the 
world,  find  a  soothing  pleasure  in  contemplating 
that  happiness  which  belongs  to  simplicity  and 
virtue.'  The  old  man,  after  a  short  silence,  dur- 
ing which  he  leaned  his  face  upon  his  hands, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  the  images  of  the 
past,  thus  began  his  narration  : 

1  Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a  young  man  who 
was  a  native  of  Normandy,  after  having  in  vain 
solicited  a  commission  in  the  French  army,  or 
some  support  from  his  own  family,  at  length  de- 
termined to  seek  his  fortune  in  this  island, 
where  he  arrived  in  1726.  He  brought  hither 
a  young  woman,  whom  he  loved  tenderly,  and 
by  whom  he  was  no  less  tenderly  beloved. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  9 

She  belonged  to  a  rich  and  ancient  family  of 
the  same  province,  but  he  had  married  her 
without  fortune,  and  in  opposition  to  the  will  of 
her  relations,  who  refused  their  consent  because 
he  was  found  guilty  of  being  descended  from 
parents  who  had  no  claims  to  nobility.  Leav- 
ing his  wife  at  Port  Louis,  he  embarked  for  Ma- 
dagascar, in  order  to  purchase  a  few  slaves  to 
assist  him  in  forming  a  plantation  in  this  island. 
He  landed  at  that  unhealthy  season  which  com- 
mences about  the  middle  of  October;  and  soon 
after  his  arrival  died  of  the  pestilential  fever, 
which  prevails  in  that  country  six  months  of  the 
year,  and  which  will  forever  baffle  the  attempts 
of  the  European  nations  to  form  establishments 
on  that  fatal  soil. 

His  effects  were  seized  upon  by  the  rapacity 
of  strangers ;  and  his  wife  found  herself  a  wid- 
ow in  a  country,  where  she  had  neither  credit 
nor  recommendation,  and  no  earthly  possession, 
or  rather  support,  than  one  negro  woman.  Too 
delicate  to  solicit  protection  or  relief  from  any 
other  man  after  the  death  of  him  whom  alone 
she  loved,  misfortune  armed  her  with  courage, 
and  she  resolved  to  cultivate  with  her  slave  a 
little  spot  of  ground,  and  procure  for  herself  the 
means  of  subsistence. 

In  an  island  almost  a  desert,  and  where  the 
ground  was  left  to  the  choice  of  the  settler,  she 


10  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

avoided  those  spots  which  were  most  fertile  and 
most  favorable  to  commerce;  and  seeking  some 
nook    of  the    mountain,    some    secret    asylum, 
where  she  might  live  solitary  and  unknown,  she 
bent  her  way  from  the  town  towards  those  rocks, 
where  she  wished  to  shelter  herself  as  in  a  nest. 
All  suffering  creatures,  from  a  sort  of  common 
instinct,    fly    for  refuge    amid   their   pains    to 
haunts  the  most  wild  and  desolate;   as  if  rocks 
could  form  a  rampart  against  misfortune,  or,  as 
if  the  calm  of  nature  could  hush  the  tumults  of 
the  soul.     But  Providence,  which  lends  its  sup- 
port when  we  ask  but  the  supply  of  our  neces- 
sary wants,  had  a  blessing  in  reserve  for  Mad- 
ame   de    la    Tour,    which    neither   riches    nor 
greatness   can  purchase ;    this  blessing  was  a 
friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  fled, 
had  already  been  inhabited,  a  year,  by  a  young 
woman  of  a  lively,  good-natured  and  affection- 
ate disposition.  Margaret,  for  that  was  her 
name,  was  born  in  Brittany,  of  a  family  of 
peasants,  by  whom  she  was  cherished  and  be- 
loved, and  with  whom  she  might  have  passed 
life  in  simple,  rustic  happiness,  if,  misled  by  the 
weakness  of  a  tender  heart,  she  had  not  lis- 
tened to  the  address  of  a  gentleman  in  the 
neighborhood,  who  promised  her  marriage.  He 
soon  abandoned  her,  and  adding  inhumanity  to 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  11 

seduction,  refused  to  ensure  a  provision  for  her 
child.  Margaret  then  determined  to  leave  for 
ever  her  native  village,  and  go,  where  her  fault 
might  be  concealed,  to  some  colony  distant  from 
that  country  where  she  had  lost  the  only  por- 
tion of  a  poor  peasant  girl,  her  reputation. 
With  some  borrowed  money  she  purchased  an 
old  negro  slave,  with  whom  she  cultivated  a 
little  spot  of  this  district.  Here  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  followed  by  her  negro  woman,  found 
Margaret  suckling  her  child.  Soothed  by  the 
sight  of  a  person  in  a  situation  somewhat  simi- 
lar to  her  own,  Madame  de  la  Tour  related,  in 
a  few  words,  her  past  condition  and  her  present 
wants.  Margaret  was  deeply  affected  by  the 
recital ;  and,  more  anxious  to  excite  confidence 
than  esteem,  she  confessed,  without  disguise, 
the  errors  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  '  As 
for  me,'  said  she,  c  I  deserve  my  fate  :  but  you, 
madam  —  you!  at  once  virtuous  and  unfortu- 
nate,'  And,  sobbing,  she  offered  to  the 

stranger  her  hut  and  her  friendship.  Madame 
de  la  Tour  affected  by  this  tender  reception, 
pressed  her  in  her  arms  and  exclaimed,  (  Sure- 
ly—  surely,  Heaven  will  put  an  end  to  my 
misfortunes,  since  it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I 
am  a  stranger,  with  more  goodness  towards  me 
than  I  have  ever  experienced  from  my  own 
relations  I ' 


12  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

I  knew  Margaret:  and,  although  my  habita- 
tion is  a  league  and  a  half  hence,  in  the  woods, 
behind  that  sloping  mountain,  I  considered  my- 
self as  her  neighbor.  In  the  cities  of  Europe, 
a  street,  sometimes  even  a  less  distance,  separ- 
ates families  whom  nature  has  united  ;  but  in 
new  colonies  we  consider  those  persons  as 
neighbors,  from  whom  we  are  divided  only  by 
woods  and  mountains.  And,  above  all,  at  that 
period  when  this  island  had  little  intercourse 
with  the  Indies,  neighborhood  alone  gave  a 
claim  to  friendship,  and  hospitality  towards 
strangers  seemed  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure. 
No  sooner  was  I  informed  that  Margaret  had 
found  a  companion,  than  I  hastened  hither  in 
the  hope  of  being  useful  to  my  neighbor  and 
her  guest. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  possessed  all  those  mel- 
ancholy graces  which  give  beauty  additional 
power,  by  blending  sympathy  with  admiration. 
Her  figure  was  interesting,  and  her  counte- 
nance expressed  at  once  dignity  and  dejection. 
I  told  them  that  for  their  future  interests,  and  to 
prevent  the  intrusion  of  any  other  settler,  it  was 
necessary  they  should  divide  between  them  the 
property  of  this  wild,  sequestered  valley,  which 
is  nearly  twenty  acres  in  extent.  They  con- 
fided that  task  to  me,  and  I  marked  out  two 
equal  portions  of  land.  One  includes  the  higher 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  13 

part   of  this  inclosure,  from  the  peak  of  that 
rock  buried  in  clouds,  whence  springs  the  rap- 
id river  of  Fan  Palms,  to  that  wide  cleft  which 
you  see    on   the  summit  of  the    mountain,  and 
which  is  called  the  Cannon's  mouth,  from  the 
resemblance  in  its  form.     It  is  difficult  to  find  a 
path  along  this  wild  portion  of  the  inclosure,  the 
soil   of  which  is  incumbered  with  fragments  of 
rock,  or  worn  into  channels  formed  by  torrents; 
yet    it  produces  noble  trees,  and  innumerable 
fountains  and  rivulets.     The    other   portion  of 
land  is  comprised  in  the  plain  extending  along 
the   banks   of  the    river  of  Fan-Palms,  to  the 
opening  where  we  are  now  seated,  whence  the 
river  takes  its  course  between  those  two  hills, 
until  it  falls  into  the  sea.     You  may  still  trace 
the  vestiges  of  some  meadow-land,  and  this  part 
of  the  common  is  less  rugged,  but  not  more  val- 
uable than  the  other;  since  in  the  rainy  season 
it  becomes    marshy,    and  in  dry  weather    is  so 
hard   and  unbending,    that  it  will  yield   only  to 
the  stroke  of  the  hatchet.     When  I  had   thus 
divided  the  property,  I  persuaded  my  neighbors 
to  draw  lots  for  their  separate  possessions.     The 
higher  portion  of  land  became  the  property  of 
Madame  de  la  Tour;  the  lower,  of  Margaret; 
and  each  seemed  satisfied  with  her  respective 
share.     They  intreated  me  to  place  their  habi- 
tations together,    that   they  might  at   all  times 


14  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

enjoy  the  soothing  intercourse  of  friendship,  and 
consolation  of  mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's 
cottage  "was  situated  near  the  centre  of  the  val- 
ley, and  just  on  the  boundary  of  her  own  planta- 
tion.  Close  to  that  spot  I  built  another  cottage 
for  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la  Tour;  and 
thus  the  two  friends,  while  they  possessed  all 
the  advantages  of  neighborhood,  lived  on  their 
own  property.  I  myself  cut  palisades  from  the 
mountain,  and  brought  leaves  of  Fan-Palms 
from  the  sea  shore,  in  order  to  construct  those 
two  cottages,  of  which  you  can  now  discern 
neither  the  entrance  nor  the  roof.  Yet,  alas! 
there  still  remain  but  too  many  traces  for  my 
remembrance  !  Time  which  so  rapidly  destroys 
the  proud  monuments  of  empires,  seems  in  this 
desert  to  spare  those  of  friendship,  as  if  to  per- 
petuate my  regrets  till  the  last  hour  of  my  ex- 
istence. 

Scarcely  was  her  cottage  finished,  when  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour  gave  birth  to  a  child.  I  had 
been  the  godfather  of  Margaret's  child,  who 
was  christened  by  the  name  of  Paul.  Madame 
de  la  Tour  desired  me  to  perform  the  same 
office  for  her  child  also,  together  with  her  friend* 
who  gave  her  the  name  of  Virginia.  *  She 
will  be  virtuous,'  cried  Margaret,  *  and  she 
will  be  happy.  I  knew  misfortune  only  in  ceas- 
ing to  be  virtuous/ 


TAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  15 

At  the  time  that  Madame  de  la  Tour  recov- 
ered, those   two   little    territories  had    already 
begun  to  yield  some  produce,  perhaps  in  a  small 
degree  owing  to  the  care  which  I  occasionally 
bestowed  on  their  improvement,  but  far  more  to 
the  indefatigable  labors  of  the  two  slaves.  Mar- 
garet's slave,  who    was  called   Domingo,    was 
still  healthy  and  robust,    although   advanced  in 
years;  he    possessed   some    knowledge,    and  a 
good,    natural    understanding.     He    cultivated 
indiscriminately,    on    both    settlements,     such 
spots  of  ground  as  were  most  fertile,  and  sowed 
whatever  grain  he   thought  most  congenial  to 
each  particular  soil.     Where  the  ground  was 
poor,   he    strewed  maize;    where   it  was  most 
fruitful  he  planted  wheat.     In  marshy  places  he 
sowed  rice,   and  at  the  foot  of  the   rocks  were 
raised  gourds    and  cucumbers,   which  love  to 
-climb  and  decorate  with  their  luxuriant  foliage. 
In  dry  places  he   cultivated  the  sweet  potatoe ; 
•cotton-trees  upon  the  heights,  and  sugar-canes 
on   clayey    soil,     He    reared    some    plants    of 
coffee  on  the  hills,   where  the  grain,   although 
small,  is  excellent     The  plantain-trees,  which 
spread  their  grateful  shade  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  encircled  the  cottage,  yielded  fruit 
throughout  the  whole  year.     And  Domingo  cul- 
tivated, also  a  few  plants  of  tobacco,  to  charm 
•away  his  own  cares,     Sometimes  he  was  em- 


16  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

ployed  in  cutting  wood,  for  fuel,  from  the  moun- 
tain; sometimes  in  hewing  pieces  of  rock  with- 
in the  inclosure,  in  order  to  level  the  paths.  He 
was  much  attached  to  Margaret,  and  not  less 
so  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  whose  negro  woman, 
Mary,  he  had  married  at  the  time  of  Virginia's 
birth;  and  of  whom  he  was  passionately  fond. 
Mary  was  born  at  Madagascar,  whence  she  had 
brought  a  few  arts  of  industry  ;  she  could 
weave  baskets,  and  a  sort  of  stuff  called  pagnes, 
with  long  grass  that  grows  in  the  woods.  She 
was  active,  cleanly,  and,  above  all,  faithful.  It 
was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals,  to  rear  the 
poultry,  and  to  go  sometimes  to  Port  Louis,  and 
sell  the  superfluities,  which  were  not  very  con- 
siderable, of  these  two  plantations.  If  you  add 
to  the  personages  I  have  already  mentioned, 
two  goats,  which  were  brought  up  with  the  chil- 
dren, and  a  great  dog  who  kept  watch  at  night, 
you  will  have  a  complete  idea  of  the  household 
as  well  as  of  the  revenue  of  those  two  little 
farms. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend,  were 
employed  from  the  morning  till  the  evening  in 
spinning  cotton  for  the  use  of  their  families. 
Destitute  of  all  those  things  which  their  own 
industry  could  not  supply,  they  walked  about 
their  habitations  with  their  feet  bare,  and  shoes 
were  a  convenience  reserved  for  Sunday,  when 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  17 

at  an  early  hour  they  attended  mass  at  the 
church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  which  you  see 
yonder.  That  church  is  far  more  distant  than 
Port  Louis,  yet  they  seldom  visited  the  city, 
lest  they  should  be  treated  with  contempt,  be- 
cause they  were  dressed  in  the  coarse  blue  lin- 
en of  Bengal,  which  is  usually  worn  by  slaves. 
But  is  public  respectability  half  so  valuable  as 
domestic  felicity?  If  these  ladies  had  something 
io  suffer  from  the  world,  it  served  but  to  en- 
dear their  humble  home.  No  sooner  did  Mary 
and  Domingo  perceive  them  from  this  elevated 
spot,  on  the  road  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  than 
they  flew  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  in  order 
to  help  them  to  ascend.  They  discerned  in  the 
looks  of  their  domestics  that  joy  which  their  re- 
turn inspired.  They  found  in  their  retreat, 
.neatness,  independence,  and  all  those  blessings 
which  are  the  recompense  of  toil,  and  the  zeal 
and  affection  of  servants.  United  by  the  tie 
of  similar  wants,  and  the  sympathy  of  similar 
misfortunes,  they  gave,  each  other  the  tender 
names  of  companion,  friend,  and  sister,  —  they 
had  but  one  will,  one  interest,  one  table.  All 
their  possessions  were  in  common.  And  if 
sometimes  a  passion,  more  ardent  than  friend- 
ship, awakened  in  their  hearts  the  pang  of  un- 
availing anguish,  a  pure  religion,  united  with 
chaste  manners,  drew  their  affections  towards 


18  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

another  life;  as  the  trembling  flame  rises  to- 
wards heaven,  when  it  no  longer  finds  any  ali- 
ment on  earth. 

The  tender  and  sacred  duties  which  nature 
imposed,  became  a  source  of  additional  happi- 
ness to  those  affectionate  mothers,  whose  mutu- 
al friendship  acquired  new  strength  at  the  sight 
of  their  children,  alike  offspring  of  unhappy 
love.  They  delighted  to  place  their  infants  to- 
gether in  the  same  bath,  to  nurse  them  in  the 
same  cradle,  and  sometimes  changed  the  mater- 
nal bosom  at  which  they  received  nourishment, 
as  if  to  blend  with  the  ties  of  friendship  that  in- 
stinctive affection  which  this  act  of  friendship 
produces.  My  friend,  cried  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  we  shall  each  of  us  have  two  children, 
and  each  of  our  children  will  have  two  mothers. 
As  two  buds  which  remain  on  two  trees  of  the 
same  kind,  after  the  tempest  has  broken  all  their 
branches,  produce  more  delicious  fruit,  if  each, 
separated  from  the  maternal  stem,  be  grafted  on 
the  neighboring  tree  ;  so  these  two  children,  de- 
prived of  all  other  support,  imbibed  sentiments 
more  tender  than  those  of  son  and  daughter, 
brother  and  sister,  when  exchanged  at  the 
breast  of  those  who  had  given  them  birth. 
While  they  were  yet  in  the  cradle,  their  mothers 
talked  of  their  marriage;  and  this  prospect  of 
conjugal  felicity,  with  which  they  soothed  their 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  19 

own  cares,  often  called  forth  the  tears  of  bitter 
regret.  The  misfortunes  of  one  mother  had 
arisen  from  having  neglected  marriage,  those  of 
the  other  from  having  submitted  to  its  laws:  one 
had  been  made  unhappy  by  attempting  to  raise 
herself  above  her  humble  condition  of  life,  the 
other  by  descending  from  her  rank.  But  they 
found  consolation  in  reflecting  that  their  more 
fortunate  children,  far  from  the  cruel  prejudices 
of  Europe,  those  prejudices  which  poison  the 
most  precious  sources  of  our  happiness,  would 
enjoy  at  once  the  pleasures  of  love,  and  the 
blessings  of  equality. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  attachment  which 
those  infants  already  displayed  for  each  other. 
If  Paul  complained,  his  mother  pointed  to  Vir- 
ginia, and  at  that  sight  he  smiled,  and  was  ap- 
peased. If  any  accident  befel  Virginia,  the 
cries  of  Paul  gave  notice  of  the  disaster;  and 
then  Virginia  would  suppress  her  complaints 
when  she  found  that  Paul  was  unhappy.  When 
I  came  hither,  I  usually  found  them  quite  naked, 
which  is  the  custom  of  this  country,  tottering  in 
their  walk,  and  holding  each  other  by  the  hands 
and  under  the  arms,  as  we  represent  the  con- 
stellation of  the  twins.  At  night  these  infants 
often  refused  to  be  separated,  and  were  found 
lying  in  the  same  cradle,  their  cheeks,  their  bo- 
soms pressed  close  together,  their  hands  thrown 


20  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

round  each  other's  neck,  and,  sleeping,  locked 
in  one  another's  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  names 
they  learnt  to  give  each  other  were  those  of 
brother  and  sister,  and  childhood  knows  no 
softer  appellation.  Their  education  served  to 
augment  their  early  friendship,  by  directing  it 
to  the  supply  of  their  reciprocal  wants.  In  a 
short  time  all  that  regarded  the  household  econo- 
my, the  care  of  preparing  their  rural  repasts, 
became  the  talk  of  Virginia,  whose  labors  were 
always  crowned  with  the  praises  and  kisses  of 
her  brother.  As  for  Paul,  always  in  motion, 
he  dug  the  garden  with  Domingo,  or  followed 
him,  with  a  little  hatchet  in  his  hand,  into  the 
woods,  where,  if  in  his  rambles  he  espied  a 
beautiful  flower,  fine  fruit,  or  a  nest  of  birds, 
even  at  the  top  of  a  tree,  he  climbed  up  and 
brought  it  home  to  his  sister. 

When  you  met  with  one  of  those  children, 
you  might  be  sure  the  other  was  not  far  distant. 
One  day,  coming  down  that  mountain,  I  saw 
Virginia  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  running  to- 
wards the  house,  with  her  petticoat  thrown  over 
her  head,  in  order  to  screen  herself  from  a 
shower  of  rain.  At  a  distance  I  thought  she 
was  alone,  but  as  I  hastened  towards  her  in  or- 
der to  help  her  on,  I  perceived  that  she  held 
Paul  by  the  arm,  who  was  almost  entirely  en- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  21 

veloped  in  the  same  canopy,  and  both  were 
laughing  heartily  at  being  sheltered  together 
under  an  umbrella  of  their  own  invention. 
Those  two  charming  faces,  placed  within  the 
petticoat,  swelled  by  the  wind,  recalled  'to  my 
mind  the  children  of  Leda,  enclosed  within  the 
same  shell. 

Their  sole  study  was  how  to  please  and  assist 
each  other  ;  for  of  all  other  things  they  were 
ignorant,  and  knew  neither  how  to  read  or 
write.  They  were  never  disturbed  by  research- 
es into  past  times,  nor  did  their  curiosity  extend 
beyond  the  bounds  of  that  mountain.  They 
believed  the  world  ended  at  the  shores  of  their 
own  island,  and  all  their  ideas  and  affections 
were  confined  within  its  limits.  Their  mutual 
tenderness,  and  that  of  their  mothers,  employed 
all  the  activity  of  their  souls.  Their  tears  had 
never  been  called  forth  by  long  application  to 
useless  sciences.  Their  minds  had  never  been 
wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  superfluous  to 
bosoms  unconscious  of  ill.  They  had  never 
been  taught  that  they  must  not  steal,  because 
every  thing  with  them  was  in  common ;  or  be 
intemperate,  because  their  simple  food  was  left 
to  their  own  discretion  ;  or  false,  because  they 
had  no  truth  to  conceal.  Their  young  imagina- 
tions had  never  been  terrified  by  the  idea  that 
God  has  punishments  in  store  for  ungrateful 


22  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

children,  since  with  them  filial  affection  arose 
naturally  from  maternal  fondness.  All  they  had 
been  taught  of  religion  was  to  love  it,  and  if 
they  did  not  offer  up  long  prayers  in  the  church  ; 
wherever  they  were,  in  the  house,  in  the  fields, 
in  the  woods,  they  raised  towards  heaven  their 
innocent  hands,  and  their  hearts  purified  by 
virtuous  affections. 

Thus  passed  their  early  childhood,  like  a 
beautiful  dawn,  the  prelude  of  a  bright  day. 
Already  they  partook,  with  their  mothers,  the 
cares  of  the  household.  As  soon  as  the  cry  of 
the  wakeful  cock  announced  the  first  beam  of 
the  morning,  Virginia  arose,  and  hastened  to 
draw  water  from  a  neighboring  spring ;  then  re- 
turning to  the  house,  she  prepared  the  breakfast. 
When  the  rising  sun  lighted  up  the  points  of 
those  rocks  which  overhang  this  inclosure, 
Margaret  and  her  child  went  to  the  dwelling  of 
Madame  de  la  Tour;  and  they  offered  up  to- 
gether their  morning  prayers.  This  sacrifice 
of  thanksgiving  always  preceded  their  first  re- 
past, which  they  often  partook  before  the  door 
of  the  cottage,  seated  upon  the  grass  under  a 
canopy  of  plantain;  and  while  the  branches  of 
that  delightful  tree  afforded  a  grateful  shade, 
its  solid  fruit  furnished  food  ready  prepared  by 
nature,  and  its  long  glossy  leaves,  spread  upon 
the  table,  supplied  the  want  of  linen. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  23 

Plentiful  and  wholesome  nourishment  gave 
early  growth  and  vigor  to  the  persons  of  those 
children,  and  their  countenances  expressed  the 
purity  and  the  peace  of  their  souls.  At  twelve 
years  of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia  was  in  some 
degree  formed ;  a  profusion  of  light  hair  shaded 
her  face,  to  which  her  blue  eyes  and  ruby  lips 
gave  the  most  charming  brilliancy.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  with  vivacity  when  she  spoke;  but 
when  she  was  silent,  her  look  had  a  cast  up- 
wards, which  gave  it  an  expression  of  extreme 
sensibility,  or  rather  of  tender  melancholy. 
Already  the  figure  of  Paul  displayed  the  graces 
of  manly  beauty.  He  was  taller  than  Virginia, 
his  skin  was  of  a  darker  tint,  his  nose  more 
aquiline,  and  his  black  eyes  would  have  been 
too  piercing,  if  the  long  eye-lashes,  by  which 
they  were  shaded,  had  not  given  them  a  look  of 
softness.  He  was  constantly  in  motion,  except 
when  his  sister  appeared,  and  then,  placed  at 
her  side,  he  became  quiet.  Their  meals  often 
passed  in  silence ;  and,  from  the  grace  of  their 
attitudes,  the  beautiful  proportions  of  their 
figures,  and  their  naked  feet,  you  might  have 
fancied  you  beheld  an  antique  group  of  white 
marble,  representing  some  of  the  children  of 
Niobe;  if  those  eyes  which  sought  to  meet, 
those  smiles  which  were  answered  by  smiles  of 
the  most  tender  softness,  had  not  rather  given 


24  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

you  the  idea  of  those  happy  celestial  spirits, 
whose  nature  is  love,  and  who  are  not  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  words  for  the  expression  of 
that  intuitive  sentiment.  In  the  mean  time 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  every  day  some 
unfolding  grace,  some  new  beauty  in  her  daugh- 
ter, felt  her  maternal  anxiety  increase  with  her 
tenderness.  She  often  said  to  me,  *  If  1  should 
die,  what  will  become  of  Virginia,  without  for- 
tune?' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  had  an  aunt  in  France, 
who  was  a  woman  of  quality,  rich,  old,  and  a 
great  bigot.  She  had  behaved  towards  her 
niece  with  so  much  cruelty  upon  her  marriage, 
that  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  determined  that 
no  distress  or  misfortune  should  ever  compel 
her  to  have  recourse  to  her  hard-hearted  rela- 
tion. But  when  she  became  a  mother,  the 
pride  of  resentment  was  stifled  in  the  stronger 
feelings  of  maternal  tenderness.  She  wrote  to» 
her  aunt,  informing  her  of  the  sudden  death  of 
her  husband,  the  birth  of  her  daughter,  and  the 
difficulties  in  which  she  was  involved  at  a  dis- 
tance from  her  own  country,  without  support, 
and  burthened  with  a  child.  She  received  no 
answer;  but,  notwithstanding  that  high  spirit 
which  was  natural  to  her  character,  she  no  lon- 
ger feared  exposing  herself  to  mortification  and 
reproach;  and,  although  she  knew  her  relation 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  25 

would  never  pardon  her  having  married  a  man 
of  merit  but  not  of  noble  birth,  she  continued  to 
write  to  her  by  every  opportunity,  in  the  hope 
of  awakening  her  compassion  for  Virginia. 
Many  years  however  passed,  during  which  she 
received  not  the  smallest  testimony  of  her  re- 
membrance. 

At  length,  in  1738,  three  years  after  the  ar- 
rival of  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  in  this 
island,  Madame  de  la  Tour  was  informed  that 
the  governor  had  a  letter  to  give  her.  She  flew 
to  Port  Louis,  indifferent  on  this  occasion  about 
appearing  in  her  homely  garment.  Maternal 
hope  and  joy  subdued  all  those  little  considera- 
tions which  are  lost  when  the  mind  is  absorbed 
by  any  powerful  sentiment.  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  delivered  to  her  a  letter  from  her 
aunt,  who  informed  her,  that  she  deserved  her 
fate  for  having  married  an  adventurer  and  a 
libertine:  that  misplaced  passions  carried  along 
with  them  their  own  punishment,  and  that  the 
sudden  death  of  her  husband  must  be  considered 
as  a  visitation  from  heaven:  that  she  had  done 
well  in  going  to  a  distant  island,  rather  than 
dishonor  her  family  by  remaining  in  France; 
and  that,  after  all,  in  the  colony  where  she  had 
taken  refuge  every  person  grew  rich  except  the 
idle.  Having  thus  lavished  sufficient  censure 
upon  the  conduct  of  her  niece,  she  finished  by 


26  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA 

an  eulogium  of  herself.  To  avoid,  she  said, 
the  almost  inevitable  evils  of  marriage,  she  had 
determined  to  remain  in  a  single  state.  In 
truth,  being  of  a  very  ambitious  temper,  she 
had  resolved  only  to  unite  herself  to  a  man  of 
high  rank;  and,  although  she  was  very  rich, 
her  fortune  was  not  found  a  sufficient  bribe, 
even  at  court,  to  counterbalance  the  malignant 
dispositions  of  her  mind,  and  the  disagreeable 
qualities  of  her  person. 

She  added  in  a  postcript,  that,  after  mature 
deliberation,  she  had  strongly  recommended 
her  niece  to  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais. 
This  she  had  indeed  done,  but  in  a  manner  of 
late  too  common,  and  which  renders  a  patron 
perhaps  even  more  formidable  than  a  declared 
enemy;  for,  in  order  to  justify  herself,  she  had 
cruelly  slandered  her  niece,  while  she  affected 
to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  could  not  be  seen 
by  the  most  indifferent  person  without  sympathy 
and  respect,  was  received  with  the  utmost  cold- 
ness by  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais;  and, 
when  she  painted  to  him  her  situation,  and  that 
of  her  child,  he  replied  with  indifference,  '  We 
will  see  what  can  be  done  —  there  are  so  many 
to  relieve  —  why  did  you  offend  such  a  respect- 
able relation?  —  You  have  been  much  to  blame.' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage, 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  27 

her  bosom  throbbing  with  all  the  bitterness  of 
disappointment.  When  she  arrived,  she  threw 
herself  on  a  chair,  and  then  flinging  her  aunt's 
letter  on  the  table,  exclaimed  to  her  friend, 
*  This  is  the  recompense  of  eleven  years  of  pa- 
tient expectation!'  As  Madame  de  la  Tour 
was  the  only  person  in  their  little  circle  who 
could  read,  she  again  took  up  the  letter,  which 
she  read  aloud.  Scarcely  had  she  finished 
when  Margaret  exclaimed,  'What  have  we  to 
do  with  your  relations  ?  Has  God  then  forsa- 
ken us?  He  only  is  our  father.  —  Have  we 
not  hitherto  been  happy?  Why  then  this  re- 
gret ?  —  You  have  no  courage.'  —  Seeing  Mad- 
ame de  la  Tour  in  tears,  she  threw  herself  upon 
her  neck,  and  pressing  her  in  her  arms,  c  My 
dear  friend!'  cried  she,  'My  dear  friend!'  — 
But  her  emotion  choaked  her  utterance. 

At  this  sight  Virginia  burst  into  tears,  and 
pressed  her  mother's  hand,  and  Margaret's,  al- 
ternately, to  her  lips,  and  to  her  heart;  while 
Paul,  with  his  eyes  inflamed  with  anger,  cried, 
clasped  his  hands  together,  and  stamped  with 
his  feet,  not  knowing  whom  to  blame  for  this 
scene  of  misery.  The  noise  soon  led  Domingo 
and  Mary  to  the  spot,  and  the  little  habitation 
resounded  with  the  cries  of  distress. 

Such  tender  proofs  of  affection  at  length  dis- 
pelled Madame  de  la  Tour's  sorrow.  She  took 


28  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

Paul  and  Virginia  in  her  arms,  and,  embracing 
them,  she  cried,  *  You  are  the  cause  of  my  af- 
fliction, and  yet  my  only  source  of  delight;  — 
yes,  my  dear  children,  misfortune  has  reached 
me  from  a  distance,  but  surely  I  am  surrounded 
by  happiness.'  Paul  and  Virginia  did  not  un- 
derstand this  reflection;  but,  when  they  saw 
that  she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and  continued 
to  caress  her.  Thus  tranquility  was  restored, 
and  what  had  passed  proved  but  a  transient 
storm,  which  serves  to  give  fresh  verdure  to  a 
beautiful  spring. 

The  amiable  dispositions  of  those  children 
unfolded  itself  daily.  On  a  Sunday,  their  moth- 
ers having  gone  at  break  of  day  to  mass,  at  the 
church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  children 
perceived  a  negro  woman  beneath  the  plantains 
which  shaded  their  habitation.  She  was  almost 
wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and  had  no  other  garment 
than  a  shred  of  coarse  cloth  thrown  around  her. 
She  flung  herself  at  Virginia's  feet,  who  was 
preparing  the  family  breakfast,  and  cried,  *  My 
good  young  lady,  have  pity  on  a  poor  slave  ! 
For  a  whole  month  I  have  wandered  among 
these  mountains,  half  dead  with  hunger,  and 
often  pursued  by  the  hunters  and  their  dogs. 
I  fled  from  my  master,  a  rich  planter  of  the 
Black  River,  who  has  used  me  as  you  see'  — 
and  she  shewed  her  body  marked  by  deep  scars 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  29 

from  the  lashes  she  had  received.  She  added, 
*  I  was  going  to  drown  myself,  but  hearing  you 
lived  here,  I  said  to  myself,  perhaps  here  are 
still  some  good  white  people  in  this  country,  I 
need  not  die  yet. 

Virginia  answered  with  emotion,  c  Take 
courage,  unfortunate  creature  !  here  is  food;' 
and  she  gave  her  the  breakfast  she  had  prepared ; 
which  the  poor  slave  in  a  few  minutes  devoured. 
When  her  hunger  was  appeased,  Virginia  said 
to  her  i  Unhappy  woman  !  will  you  let  me  go 
and  ask  forgiveness  for  you  of  your  master  ? 
Surely  the  sight  of  you  will  touch  him  with  pity 
—  will  you  show  me  the  way  ?  —  '  Angel  of 
heaven!'  answered  the  poor  negro  woman.,  '  I 
will  follow  you  where  you  please.'  Virginia 
called  to  her  brother,  and  begged  him  to  accom- 
pany her.  The  slave  led  the  way,  by  winding 
and  difficult  paths  through  the  woods,  over 
mountains  which  they  climbed  with  difficulty, 
and  across  rivers,  through  which  they  were 
obliged  to  wade.  At  length  they  reached  the 
foot  of  a  precipice  upon  the  borders  of  the  Black 
River.  There  they  perceived  a  well-built 
house,  surrounded  by  extensive  plantations, 
and  a  great  number  of  slaves  employed  at  their 
various  labors.  Their  master  was  walking 
among  them  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  a 
ratan  in  his  hand.  He  was  of  a  tall  thin  figure, 


30  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

of  a  brown  complexion,  his  eyes  were  sunk  in 
his  head,  and  his  dark  eye-brows  were  joined 
together.  Virginia,  holding  Paul  by  the  hand 
drew  near,  and  with  much  emotion  begged  him, 
for  the  love  of  God,  to  pardon  the  poor  slave, 
who  stood  trembling  a  few  paces  behind.  The 
man  at  first  paid  little  attention  to  the  children, 
who  he  saw  were  meanly  dressed.  But  when 
he  observed  the  elegance  of  Virginia's  form, 
and  the  profusion  of  her  beautiful  light  tresses, 
which  had  escaped  from  beneath  her  blue  cap; 
when  he  heard  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice,  which 
trembled,  as  well  as  her  whole  frame,  while  she 
implored  his  compassion,  he  took  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and,  lifting  up  his  stick,  swore,  with 
a  terrible  oath,  that  he  pardoned  his  slave,  not 
for  the  love  of  heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked 
his  forgiveness.  Virginia  made  a  sign  to  the 
slave  to  approach  her  master,  and  instantly  ran 
away,  while  Paul  followed. 

They  climbed  up  the  precipice  they  had  de- 
scended; and,  having  gained  the  summit,  seated 
themselves  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  overcome  with 
fatigue,  hunger,  and  thirst.  They  had  left  their 
cottage  fasting,  and  had  walked  five  leagues 
since  break  of  day.  Paul  said  to  Virginia, 
'  My  dear  sister,  it  is  past  noon,  and  I  am  sure 
you  are  thirsty  and  hungry;  we  shall  find  no 
dinner  here;  let  us  go  down  the  mountain  again, 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  31 

and  ask  the  master  of  the  poor  slave  for  some 
food.'  *  Oh,  no,'  answered  Virginia,  *  he  fright- 
ens me  too  much:  remembered  what  mamma 
sometimes  says,  '  the  bread  of  the  wicked  is 
like  gravel  in  the  mouth.'  '  What  shall  we  do 
then?  said  Paul;  *  these  trees  produce  no  fruit; 
and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  find  even  a  tamarind 
or  a  lemon  to  refresh  you.'  '  God  will  have 
pity  on  us,'  replied  Virginia,  '  he  hears  the 
voices  of  the  little  birds  which  call  to  him  fbr 
food.'  Scarcely  had  she  pronounced  these 
words,  when  they  heard  the  dashing  of  waters 
which  fell  from  a  neighboring  rock.  They  ran 
thither,  and  having  quenched  their  thirst  at  this 
crystal  spring,  they  gathered  a  few  cresses 
which  grew  on  the  border  of  the  stream.  While 
they  were  wandering  in  the  woods  in  search  of 
more  solid  nourishment,  Virginia'spied  a  young 
palm-tree.  The  kind  of  cabbage  which  is  found 
at  the  top  of  this  tree,  enfolded  within  its  leaves, 
forms  an  excellent  sustenance;  but,  although 
the  stalk  of  the  tree  was  not  very  thick,  yet  it 
was  above  sixty  feet  in  height.  The  wood  of 
this  tree  is  composed  of  fine  filaments;  but  the 
bark  is  so  hard  that  it  turns  the  edge  of  the 
hatchet;  and  Paul  was  not  even  furnished  with 
a  knife.  At  length  he  thought  of  setting  fire 
to  the  palm-tree;  but  a  new  difficulty  occurred, 
he  had  no  steel  with  which  to  strike  fire ;  and, 


32  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

although  the  whole  island  is  covered  with  rocks. 
I  do  not  believe  it  is  possible  to  find  a  flint. 
Necessity,  however,  is  fertile  in  expedients, 
and  the  most  useful  inventions  have  arisen  from 
men  placed  in  the  most  destitute  situations. 
Paul  determined  to  kindle  a  fire  in  the  manner 
of  the  negroes.  With  the  sharp  end  of  a  stone 
he  made  a  small  hole  in  the  branch  of  a  tree 
that  was  quite  dry,  which  he  held  between  his 
feet;  he  then  sharpened  another  dry  branch  of 
a  different  sort  of  wood,  and  afterwards  placing 
the  piece  of  pointed  wood  in  the  small  hole  of 
the  branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet,  and 
turning  it  rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a  few 
minutes  smoke  and  sparks  of  fire  issued  from 
the  points  of  contact.  Paul  then  heaped  to- 
gether dried  grass  and  branches,  and  set  fire  to 
the  palm-tree,  which  soon  fell  to  the  ground. 
The  fire  was  useful  to  him  in  stripping  off  the 
long,  thick,  and  pointed  leaves,  within  which 
the  cabbage  was  enclosed. 

Paul  and  Virginia  ate  part  of  the  cabbage 
raw,  and  part  dressed  upon  the  ashes,  which 
they  found  equally  palateable.  They  made  this 
frugal  repast  with  delight,  from  the  remembrance 
of  the  benevolent  action  they  had  performed  in 
the  morning  ;  yet  their  joy  was  embittered  Jjy 
the  thoughts  of  that  uneasiness  which  their  long 
absence  would  give  their  mothers.  Virginia 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  33 

often  recurred  to  this  subject;  but  Paul,  who 
felt  his  strength  renewed  by  their  meal,  assured 
her  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  they  reach- 
ed home. 

After  dinner  they  recollected  that  they  had 
no  guide,  and  that  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
way.  Paul,  whose  spirit  was  not  subdued  by 
difficulties,  said  to  Virginia,  c  The  sun  shines 
full  upon  our  hut  at  noon;  we  must  pass,  as  we 
did  this  morning,  over  that  mountain  with  its 
three  points,  which  you  see  yonder.  Come, 
let  us  go.'  This  mountain  is  called  the  Three 
Peaks.  Paul  and  Virginia  descended  the  pre- 
cipice of  the  Black  River,  on  the  northern  side; 
and  arrived,  after  an  hour's  walk,  on  the  banks 
of  a  large  stream. 

Great  part  of  this  island  is  so  little  known, 
even  now,  that  many  of  its  rivers  and  moun- 
tains have  not  yet  received  a  name.  The  river, 
on  the  banks  of  which  our  travellers  stood,  rolls 
foaming  over  a  bed  of  rocks.  The  noise  of  the 
water  frightened  Virginia,  and  she  durst  not 
attempt  to  ford  the  stream.  Paul  therefore  took 
her  up  in  his  arms,  and  went,  thus  loaded,  over 
the  slippery  rocks,  which  formed  the  bed  of  the 
river,  careless  of  the  tumultuous  noise  of  its 
waters.  '  Do  not  be  afraid,'  cried  he  to  Vir- 
ginia, '  I  feel  very  strong  with  you.  If  the  in- 
habitant of  the  Black  River  had  refused  you 
3 


34  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

the  pardon  of  his  slave,  I  would  have  fought 
with  him.'  '  What!'  answered  Virginia  *  with 
that  great  wicked  man?  —  To  what  have  I  ex- 
posed you,  gracious  Heaven!  How  difficult  it 
is  to  do  good;  and  it  is  so  easy  to  do  wrong.' 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he  wished 
to  continue  his  journey  carrying  his  sister,  and 
believed  he  was  able  to  climb  in  that  way  the 
mountain  of  the  Three  Peaks,  which  was  still 
at  the  distance  of  half  a  league ;  but  his  strength 
soon  failed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  [set  down  his 
burden,  and  to  rest  himself  by  her  side.  Vir- 
ginia then  said  to  him,  '  My  dear  brother,  the 
sun  is  going  down,  you  have  still  some  strength 
left,  but  mine  has  quite  failed;  do  leave  me 
here,  and  return  home  alone  to  ease  the  fears  of 
our  mothers.'  '  Oh  no,'  said  Paul,  '  I  will  not 
leave  you  —  if  night  surprises  us  in  this  wood, 
I  will  light  a  fire,  and  bring  down  another  palm- 
tree;  you  shall  eat  the  cabbage;  and  I  will 
form  a  covering  of  the  leaves  to  shelter  you. 
In  the  mean  time,  Virginia  being  a  little  rested, 
pulled  from  the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  which 
hung  over  the  bank  of  the  river,  some  long 
leaves  of  hart's  tongue,  which  grew  near  its 
root.  Feeling  her  feet  cooled  by  the  freshness 
of  the  leaves,  she  broke  off  a  branch  of  bam- 
boo, and  continued  her  walk,  leaning  with  one 
hand  on  the  staff,  and  with  the  other  on  Paul. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  35 

They  walked  on  slowly  through  the  woods, 
but,  from  the  height  of  the  trees  and  the  thick- 
ness of  their  foliage,  they  soon  lost  sight  of  the 
mountain  of  the  Three  Peaks  by  which  they 
had  directed  their  course,  and  even  of  the  sun, 
which  was  now  setting.  At  length  they  wan- 
dered, without  perceiving  it,  from  the  beaten 
path  in  which  they  had  hitherto  walked,  and 
found  themselves  in  a  labyrinth  of  trees,  and 
rocks,  which  appeared  to  have  no  opening. 
Paul  made  Virginia  sit  down,  while  he  ran 
backwards  and  forwards,  half  frantic,  in  search 
of  a  path  which  might  lead  them  out  of  this 
thick  wood;  but  all  his  researches  were  vain. 
He  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  tree,  from  whence 
he  hoped  at  least  to  discern  the  mountain  of  the 
Three  Peaks;  but  all  he  could  perceive  around 
him  were  the  tops  of  trees,  some  of  which  were 
gilded  by  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun. 
Already  the  shadows  of  the  mountains  were 
spread  over  the  forests  in  the  valleys.  The 
wind  ceased,  as  it  usually  does,  at  the  evening 
hour.  The  most  profound  silence  reigned  in 
those  awful  solitudes,  which  was  only  interrupt- 
ed by  the  cry  of  the  stags,  who  came  to  repose 
in  that  unfrequented  spot.  Paul,  in  the  hope 
that  some  hunter  would  hear  his  voice,  called 
out  as  loud  as  he  was  able,  '  Come,  come,  to 
the  help  of  Virginia.'  Eut  the  echoes  of  the 


36  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

forests  alone  answered  his  call,  and  repeated 
again  and  again,  '  Virginia  —  Virginia.' 

Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree,  over- 
come with  fatigue  and  vexation,  and  reflected 
how  they  might  best  contrive  to  pass  the  night 
in  that  desert.  But  he  could  find  neither  a 
fountain,  a  palm-tree,  or  even  a  branch  of  dry 
wood  to  kindle  a  fire.  He  then  felt,  by  expe- 
rience, ^the  sense  of  his  own  weakness,  and 
began  to  weep.  Virginia  said  to  him,  c  Do  not 
weep,  my  dear  brother,  or  I  shall  die  with  grief. 
I  am  the  cause  of  all  your  sorrow,  and  of  all 
that  our  mothers  suffer  at  this  moment.  I  find 
we  ought  to  do  nothing,  not  even  good,  without 
consulting  our  parents.  Oh,  I  have  been  very 
imprudent!'  —  and  she  began  to  shed  tears. 
She  then  said  to  Paul,  '  Let  us  pray  to  God, 
my  dear  brother,  and  he  will  hear  us.' 

Scarcely  had  they  finished  their  prayer,  when 
they  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog.  c  It  is  the 
dog  of  some  hunter,'  said  Paul,  c  who  comes 
here  at  night  to  lay  in  wait  for  the  stags.' 
Soon  after  the  dog  barked  again  with  more  vio- 
lence. '  Surely,'  said  Virginia,  c  it  is  Fidele, 
our  own  dog ;  —  yes,  I  know  his  voice  —  are 
we  then  so  near  home  ?  at  the  foot  of  our  own 
mountain?'  A  moment  after  Fidele  was  at 
their  feet,  barking,  howling,  crying,  and  load- 
ing them  with  his  caresses.  —  Before  they  had 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  37 

recovered  their  surprise,  they  saw  Domingo 
running  towards  them.  At  the  sight  of  this 
good  old  negro,  who  wept  with  joy,  they  began 
to  weep  too,  without  being  able  to  utter  one 
word.  When  Domingo  had  recovered  himself 
a  little,  '  Oh,  my  dear  children,'  cried  he, 
'  how  miserable  have  you  made  your  mothers! 
How  much  were  they  astonished  when  they  re- 
turned from  mass,  where  I  went  with  them,  at 
not  finding  you.  Mary,  who  was  at  work  at  a 
little  distance,  could  not  tell  us  where  you  were 
gone.  I  ran  backwards  and  forwards  about  the 
plantation,  not  knowing  where  to  look  for  you. 
At  last  I  took  some  of  your  old  clothes,  and 
shewing  them  to  Fidele,  the  poor  animal,  as  if 
he  understood  me,  immediately  began  to  scent 
your  path;  and  conducted  me,  continually  wag- 
ging his  tail,  to  the  Black  River.  It  was  there 
a  planter  told  me  that  you  had  brought  back  a 
negro  woman,  his  slave,  and  that  he  had  grant- 
ed you  her  pardon.  But  what  pardon  !  he 
shewed  her  to  me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a 
block  of  wood,  and  an  iron  collar  with  three 
hooks  fastened  round  her  neck! 

From  thence  Fidele,  still  on  the  scent,  led 
me  up  the  precipice  of  the  Black  River,  where 
he  again  stopped  and  barked  with  all  his  might. 
This  was  on  the  brink  of  a  spring,  near  a  fallen 
palm-tree,  and  close  to  a  fire  which  was  still 


38  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

smoking.  At  last  he  led  me  to  this  very  spot. 
We  are  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three 
Peaks,  and  still  four  leagues  from  home. 
Come,  eat  and  gather  strength.  He  then  pre- 
sented them  with  cakes,  fruits,  and  a  large 
gourd  filled  with  a  liquor  composed  of  wine, 
water,  lemon-juice,  sugar,  and  nutmeg,  which 
their  mothers  had  prepared.  Virginia  sighed 
at  the  recollection  of  the  poor  slave,  and  at  the 
uneasiness  which  they  had  given  their  mothers. 
She  repeated  several  times,  '  Oh  how  difficult 
it  is  to  do  good!' 

While  she  and  Paul  were  taking  refreshment, 
Domingo  kindled  a  fire,  and  having  sought 
among  the  rocks  for  a  particular  kind  of  crook- 
ed wood,  which  burns  when  quite  green,  throw- 
ing out  a  great  blaze,  he  made  a  torch,  which 
he  lighted,  it  being  already  night.  But  when 
they  prepared  to  continue  their  journey,  a  new 
difficulty  occurred:  Paul  and  Virginia  could  no 
longer  walk,  their  feet  being  violently  swelled 
and  inflamed.  Domingo  knew  not  whether  it 
were  best  to  leave  them  and  go  in  search  of 
help,  or  remain  and  pass  the  night  with  them 
on  that  spot.  '  What  is  become  of  the  time,' 
said  he,  c  when  I  used  to  carry  you  both  to- 
gether in  my  arms  ?  —  but  now  you  are  grown 
big,  and  I  am  grown  old.'  While  he  was  in 
this  perplexity  a  troop  of  Maron  negroes  ap- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  39 

peared  at  the  distance  of  twenty  paces.  The 
chief  of  the  band,  approaching  Paul  arid  Vir- 
ginia, said  to  them,  *  Good  little  white  people, 
de  not  be  afraid  —  we  saw  you  pass  this  morn- 
ing with  a  negro-woman  of  the  Black-River.  — 
You  went  to  ask  pardon  for  her  of  her  wicked 
master,  and  we  in  return  for  this  will  carry  you 
home  upon  our  shoulders.'  He  then  made  a 
sign,  and  four  of  the  strongest  negroes  immedi- 
ately formed  a  sort  of  litter  with  the  branches 
of  trees  and  lianas,  in  which  having  seated  Paul 
and  Virginia,  they  placed  it  upon  their  shoul- 
ders. Domingo  marched  in  front  carrying  his 
lighted  torch,  and  they  proceeded  amidst  the 
rejoicings  of  the  whole  troop,  and  overwhelmed 
with  their  benedictions.  Virginia,  affected  by 
this  scene,  said  to  Paul  with  emotion,  *  Oh,  my 
dear  brother!  God  never  leaves  a  good  action 
without  reward.' 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  on  the  ridges  of  which  several 
fires  were  lighted.  Scarcely  had  they  begun 
to  ascend,  when  they  heard  voices  crying  out, 
*  Is  it  you,  my  children?'  They  answered,  to- 
gether with  the  negroes,  'Yes,  it  is  us,'  and 
soon  after  perceiving  their  mothers  and  Mary 
coming  towards  them  with  lighted  sticks  in  their 
hands.  *  Unhappy  children,'  cried  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  *  whence  do  you  come  ?  what  agonies 


40  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA, 


have  made  us  suffer  P  c  We  come,'  said 
Virginia,  '  from  the  Black  River,  where  we 
went  to  ask  pardon  for  a  poor  Maron  slave,  to 
whom  I  gave  our  breakfast  this  morning,  be- 
cause she  was  dying  of  hunger,  and  these  Ma- 
ron negroes  have  brought  us  home.'  Madame 
de  la  Tour  embraced  her  daughter  without 
being  able  to  speak,  and  Virginia,  who  felt  her 
face  wet  with  her  mother's  tears,  exclaimed., 
*  You  repay  me  for  all  the  hardships  I  have 
suffered.'  Margaret,  in  a  transport  of  delight, 
pressed  Paul  in  her  arms,  crying,  '  And  you 
also,  my  dear  child,  you  have  done  a  good  ac- 
tion.' When  they  reached  the  hut  with  their 
children  they  gave  plenty  of  food  to  the  negroes, 
who  returned  to  their  woods,  after  praying  that 
the  blessing  of  heaven  might  descend  on  those 
good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  those  families  a  day  of 
tranquility  and  happiness.  Neither  ambition 
nor  envy,  disturbed  their  repose.  In  this  isl- 
and, where,  as  in  all  the  European  colonies, 
every  malignant  anecdote  is  circulated  with 
avidity,  their  virtues  and  even  their  names  were 
unknown.  Only  when  a  traveller  on  the  road 
of  the  Shaddock  Grove  inquired  of  any  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  plain,  c  who  lives  in  those 
two  cottages  above?'  he  was  always  answered,, 
even  by  those  who  did  not  know  them,  *  They 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  41 

are  good  people.'  Thus  the  modest  violets, 
concealed  beneath  the  thorny  bushes,  shed  their 
fragrance,  though  they  remain  unseen. 

Doing  good  appeared  to  those  amiable  fami- 
lies to  be  the  chief  purpose  of  life.  Solitude, 
far  from  having  blunted  their  benevolent  feel- 
ings, or  rendered  their  dipositions  morose,  had 
left  their  hearts  open  to  every  tender  affection. 
The  contemplation  of  nature  filled  their  minds 
with  enthusiastic  delight.  They  adored  the 
bounty  of  that  Providence  which  had  enabled 
them  to  spread  abundance  and  beauty  amidst 
those  barren  rocks,  and  to  enjoy  those  pure  and 
simple  pleasures  which  are  ever  grateful  and 
ever  new. 

Paul  at  twelve  years  of  age  was  stronger  and 
more  intelligent  than  Europeans  generally  are 
at  fifteen,  and  had  embellished  the  plantations, 
which  Domingo  had  only  cultivated.  He  had 
gone  with  him  to  the  neighboring  woods  and 
rooted  up  young  plants  of  lemon  trees,  oranges, 
and  tamarinds,  the  round  heads  of  which  are  of 
so  fresh  a  green,  together  with  date  palm-trees, 
producing  fruit  filled  with  a  sweet  cream  which 
has  the  fine  perfume  of  the  orange  flower. 
Those  trees,  which  were  already  of  a  consider- 
able size,  he  planted  round  this  little  inclosure. 
He  had  also  sown  the  seeds  of  many  trees 
which  the  second  year  bear  flowers  of  fruit. 


42  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

The  agathis,  encircled  with  long  clusters  of 
white  flowers,  which  hang  upon  it  like  the  crys- 
tal pendents  of  a  lustre.  The  Persian  lilac, 
which  lifts  high  in  air  its  grey  flax-colored 
branches.  The  pappaw-tree,  the  trunk  of 
which,  without  branches,  forms  a  column  set 
round  with  green  melons,  bearing  on  their 
heads  large  leaves  like  those  of  the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum-tree,  ter- 
minalia,  mangoes,  alligator-pears,  the  guava, 
the  bread-tree,  and  the  narrow-leaved  eugenia, 
were  planted  with  profusion;  and  the  greater 
number  of  those  trees  already  afforded  to  their 
young  cultivator  both  shade  and  fruit.  His  in- 
dustrious hands  had  diffused  the  riches  of  na- 
ture even  on  the  most  barren  parts  of  the  plan- 
tation. Several  kinds  of  aloes,  the  common 
India  fig  adorned  with  yellow  flowers  spotted 
with  red,  and  the  thorny  five-angled  touch-this- 
tle grew  upon  the  dark  summits  of  the  rocks, 
and  seemed  to  aim  at  reaching  the  long  lianas, 
which,  loaded  with  blue  or  crimson  flowers, 
hung  scattered  over  the  steepest  parts  of  the 
mountain.  —  Those  trees  were  disposed  in  such 
a  manner  that  you  could  enjoy  the  whole  at  one 
view.  He  had  placed  in  the  middle  of  this  hol- 
low the  plants  of  the  lowest  growth.  —  Behind 
grew  the  shrubs  —  then  trees  of  an  ordinary 
height;  above  which  rose  majestically  the  ven- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  43 

erable  lofty  groves  which  border  the  circumfer- 
ence. Thus,  from  its  centre,  this  extensive  in- 
closure  appeared  like  a  verdant  amphitheatre 
spread  with  fruits  and  flowers,  containing  a  va- 
riety of  vegetables,  a  chain  of  meadow-land r 
and  fields  of  rice  and  corn.  In  bending  those 
vegetable  productions  to  his  own  taste,  he  fol- 
lowed the  designs  of  Nature.  Guided  by  her 
suggestions,  he  had  thrown  upon  the  rising 
grounds  such  seeds  as  the  winds  might  scatter 
over  the  heights,  and  near  the  borders  of  the 
springs  such  grains  as  float  upon  the  waters  : 
every  plant  grew  in  its  proper  soil,  and  every 
spot  seemed  decorated  by  her  hands.  The 
streams  which  rushed  from  the  summits  of  the 
rocks  formed  in  some  parts  of  the  valley  limped 
fountains,  and  in  other  parts  were  spread  into 
large  clear  mirrors,  which  reflected  the  bright 
verdure,  the  trees  in  blossom,  the  overhanging" 
rocks,  and  the  azure  heavens. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of  the 
ground,  most  of  these  plantations  were  easy  of 
access.  We  had  indeed  all  given  him  our  ad- 
vice and  assistance,  in  order  to  accomplish  this 
end.  He  had  formed  a  path  which  winded 
round  the  valley,  and  of  which  various  ramifica- 
tions led  from  the  circumference  to  the  centre. 
He  had  drawn  some  advantage  from  the  most 
rugged  spots,  and  had  blended  in  harmonious 


44  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

variety,  smooth  walks  with  the  asperities  of  the 
soil,  and  wild  with  domestic  productions.  With 
that  immense  quantity  of  rolling  stones  which 
now  block  up  those  paths,  and  which  are  scat- 
tered over  most  of  the  ground  of  this  island,  he 
formed  here  and  there  pyramids,  and  at  their 
base  he  laid  earth,  and  planted  the  roots  of  rose 
bushes,  the  Barbadoes  flower  fence,  and  other 
shrubs  which  love  to  climb  the  rocks.  In  a 
short  time  those  gloomy,  shapeless  pyramids 
were  covered  with  verdure,  or  with  the  glowing 
tints  of  the  most  beautiful  flowers.  The  hol- 
low recesses  of  aged  trees,  which  bent  over  the 
borders  of  the  stream,  formed  vaulted  caves 
impenetrable  to  the  sun,  where  they  retired  for 
colness  during  the  heats  of  the  day.  That 
path  led  to  a  clump  of  forest  trees,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  which  grew  a  cultivated  tree,  loaded 
with  fruit:  here  was  a  field  ripe  with  corn,  there 
an  orchard:  from  the  avenue  you  had  a  view  of 
the  cottages,  from  this,  of  the  inaccessible  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain.  Beneath  that  tufted  bow- 
er of  gum  trees,  interwoven  with  lianas,  no  ob- 
ject could  be  discerned  even  at  noon,  while  the 
point  of  a  neighboring  rock,  which  projects  from 
the  mountain,  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole 
inclosure,  and  of  distant  ocean,  where  some- 
times we  spied  a  vessel  coming  from  Europe, 
or  returning  thither.  On  this  rock  the  two  fam- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA,  45 

ilies  assembled  in  the  evening,  and  enjoyed  in 
silence  the  freshness  of  the  air,  the  fragrance  of 
the  flowers,  and  murmurs  of  the  fountains,  and 
the  last  blended  harmonies  of  light  and  shade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  than  the 
names  which  were  bestowed  upon  some  of  the 
charming  retreats  of  this  labyrinth.  That  rock, 
of  which  I  was  speaking,  and  from  which  my 
approach  was  discerned  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance, was  called  The  Discovery  of  Friendship. 
Paul  and  Virginia  amid  their  sports  had  planted 
a  bamboo  on  that  spot,  and,  whenever  they  saw 
me  coming,  they  hoisted  a  little  white  handker- 
chief by  way  of  signal  of  my  approach,  as  they 
had  seen  a  flag  hoisted  on  the  neighboring 
mountain  at  the  sight  of  a  vessel  at  sea.  The 
idea  struck  me  of  engraving  an  inscription  upon 
the  stalk  of  this  reed.  Whatever  pleasure  I 
have  felt  during  my  travels  at  the  sight  of  a  stat- 
ue or  monument  of  antiquity,  I  have  felt  still 
more  in  reading  a  well-written  inscription.  It 
seems  to  me  as  if  a  human  voice  issued  from 
the  stone,  and,  making  itself  heard  through  the 
lapse  of  ages,  addressed  man  in  the  midst  of  a 
desert,  and  told  him,  that  he  is  not  alone;  that 
other  men  on  that  very  spot  have  felt,  and 
thought,  and  suffered,  like  himself.  If  the  in- 
scription belongs  to  an  ancient  nation  which  no 
longer  exists,  it  leads  the  soul  through  infinite 


46  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

space,  and  inspires  the  feeling  of  its  immortali- 
ty, by  shewing  that  a  thought  has  survived  the 
ruins  of  an  empire. 

I  inscribed  then,  on  the  little  mast  of  Paul 
and  Virginians  flag,  those  lines  of  Horace: 

.    .    .     .     Pratres  Helense,  lucida  sidera, 
Ventorumqne  regat  pater, 
Obstrictis  aliis,  praeter  lapyga. 

'  May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  lucid  stars  like 
you,  and  the  Father  of  the  winds,  guide  you, 
and  may  you  only  feel  the  breath  of  the  zephyr.7 

I  engraved  this  line  of  Virgil  upon  the  bark 
of  a  gum  tree,  under  the  shade  of  which  Paul 
sometimes  seated  himself  in  order  to  contem- 
plate the  agitated  ocean. 

Fortunatus  et  ille  Deos  qui  novit  agrestes ! 

'  Happy  art  thou,  my  son,  to  know  only  the 
pastoral  divinities.' 

And  above  the  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour's 
cottage,  where  the  families  used  to  assemble,  I 
placed  this  line: 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 

1  Here  is  a  calm  conscience,  and  a  life  igno- 
rant of  deceit.' 

But  Virginia  did  not  approve  of  my  latin;  she 
said  that  what  I  had  placed  at  the  foot  of  her 
weather-flag  was  too  long  and  too  learned.  *  I 

o  o 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  47 

should  have  liked  better,'  added  she,  '  to  have 
seen  inscribed,  'Always  agitated,  yet  ever  con- 
stant.' 

The  sensibility  of  those  happy  families  ex- 
tended itself  to  every  thing  around  them.  They 
had  given  names  the  most  tender  to  objects  ap- 
parently the  most  indifferent.  A  border  of  or- 
ange, plantain,  and  bread-trees,  planted  round 
a  green-sward  where  Virginia  and  Paul  some- 
times danced,  was  called  'Concord.'  An  old 
tree,  beneath  the  shade  of  which  Madame  de  la 
Tour  and  Margaret  used  to  relate  their  misfor- 
tunes, was  called  '  The  tears  wiped  away.' 
They  gave  the  names  of  Brittany  and  Norman- 
dy to  little  portions  of  ground,  where  they  had 
sown  corn,  strawberries,  and  peas.  Domingo 
and  Mary  wishing,  in  imitation  of  their  mistress- 
es, to  recall  the  places  of  their  birth  in  Africa, 
gave  the  names  of  Angola  and  Foullepointe  to 
the  spots  where  that  grass  grew  with  which 
they  wove  baskets,  and  where  they  had  planted 
a  calbassia-tree  or  gourd.  Thus,  with  the  pro- 
ductions of  their  respective  climates,  those  ex- 
iled families  cherished  the  dear  illusions  which 
bind  us  to  our  native  country,  and  softened  their 
regrets  in  a  foreign  land.  Alas!  I  have  seen 
animated  by  a  thousand  soothing  appellations, 
those  trees,  those  fountains,  those  stones,  which 
are  now  overthrown,  which  now,  like  the  plains 


48  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

of  Greece,  present  nothing  but  ruins  and  affect- 
ing remembrances. 

But  perhaps  the  most  charming  spot  of  this 
inclosure  was  that  which  was  called  the  '  Repose 
of  Virginia.'  At  the  foot  of  the  rock,  named 
The  Discovery  of  Friendship,  is  a  nook  whence 
issues  a  fountain,  forming  near  its  source 
a  little  spot  of  marshy  soil  in  the  midst  of  a  field  of 
rich  grass.  At  the  time  Margaret  gave  birth  to 
Paul,  I  made  her  a  present  of  an  Indian  cocoa 
which  had  been  given  me,  and  which  she  plant- 
ed on  the  border  of  this  fenny  ground,  in  order 
that  the  tree  might  one  day  serve  to  mark  the 
epocha  of  her  son's  birth.  Madame  de  la  Tour 
planted  another  cocoa,  with  the  same  view,  at 
the  birth  of  Virginia.  Those  fruits  produced 
two  cocoa-trees,  which  formed  all  the  records 
of  the  two  families;  one  was  called  the  tree  of 
Paul,  the  other  the  tree  of  Virginia.  They 
grew,  in  the  same  proportion  as  the  two  young 
persons,  of  an  unequal  height;  but  they  rose 
at  the  end  of  twelve  years  above  the  cottages. 
Already  their  tender  stalks  were  interwoven, 
and  their  young  branches  of  cocoas  hung  over 
the  bason  of  the  fountain. 

Except  this  little  plantation,  the  nook  of  the 
rock  had  been  left  as  it  was  decorated  by  nature. 
On  its  brown  and  humid  sides  large  plants  of 
maidenhair  glistened  with  their  green  and  dark 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  49 

Stars,    and   tufts  of  wave-leaved  harts-tongue, 
suspended  like  long  ribbands  of  purpled  green, 
floated  on  the  winds.      Near  this   grew  a  chain 
of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  the   flowers   of 
which  resemble  the  red  gilliflower;  and  the  long 
podded  capsacum,    the    husks    of  which  are  of 
the  color  of  blood,  and  more  glowing  than  coral. 
The   herb   of  balm,   with  its  leaves  within  the 
heart,  and  the  sweet  basil,  which   has  the  odor 
of  the  gilliflower,    exhaled   the   most  delicious 
perfumes.     From  the  summit  of  the  mountain 
hung  the  graceful  lianas,  like  a  floating  drapery, 
forming  magnificent    canopies    of  verdure  upon 
the  sides  of  the  rocks.       The  sea-birds,  allured 
by  the  stillness  of  those  retreats,  resorted  thith- 
er to  pass  the  night.     At   the    hour   of  sun-set   s 
we  perceived  the  curlew  and  the  sea-lark  skim- 
ming along  the  sea-shore,  the  black  frigate  poi- 
sed high  in  air,  and  the  white  bird  of  the  tropic, 
which  abandons,  with  the  star  of  day,  the  soli- 
tudes of  the  Indian  ocean. 

Virginia  loved  to  repose  upon  the  border  of 
this  fountain,  decorated  with  wild  and  sublime 
magnificence.  She  often  seated  herself  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  two  cocoa  trees,  and  there  she 
sometimes  led  her  goats  to  graze.  While  she 
prepared  cheeses  of  their  milk,  she  loved  to  see 
them  browse  on  the  maidenhair  which  grew  upon 
the  steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and  hang  suspended 
4 


-50  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

upon  one  of  its  cornices  as  on  a  pedestal.  Paul, 
observing  that  Virginia  was  fond  of  this  spot, 
brought  thither  from  the  neighboring  forest  a 
great  variety  of  birds-nests.  The  old  birds  fol- 
lowing their  young,  established  themselves  in 
this  new  colony.  Virginia  at  stated  times  distrib- 
uted among  them  grains  of  rice,  millet,  and  maize. 
As  soon  as  she  appeared,  the  whistling  black- 
bird, the  bengali,  the  note  of  which  is  so  soft, 
the  black  frigate  bird,  with  its  plumage  the  col- 
or of  flame,  forsook  their  bushes;  the  paroquet, 
green  as  an  emerald,  descended  from  the  neigh- 
boring fan-palms,  the  partridge  ran  along  the 
grass,  all  advanced  promiscuously  towards  her, 
like  a  brood  of  chickens:  and  she  and  Paul  de- 
lighted to  observe  their  sports,  their  repasts, 
and  their  loves. 

Amiable  children,  thus  passed  your  early 
days  in  innocence  and  in  the  exercise  of  benev- 
olence. How  many  times  on  this  very  spot 
have  your  mothers,  pressing  you  in  their  arms, 
blessed  Heaven  for  the  consolations  your  un- 
folding virtues  prepared  for  their  declining 
years ;  while  already  they  enjoyed  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  you  begin  life  under  the  most 
happy  auspices!  How  many  times  beneath  the 
shade  of  those  rocks  have  I  partaken  with  them 
of  your  rural  repasts,  which  cost  no  animal  its 
life!  Gourds  filled  with  milk,  fresh  eggs,  cakes 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  51 

of  rice  placed  upon  plantain  leaves,  baskets 
loaded  with  mangoes,  oranges,  dates,  pome- 
grants,  pine-apples,  furnished  at  the  same  time 
the  most  wholesome  food,  the  most  beautiful 
colors,  and  the  most  delicious  juices. 

The  conversation  was  gentle  and  innocent  as 
the  repasts.  Paul  often  talked  of  the  labors  of 
the  day,  and  of  those  of  the  morrow.  He  was 
continually  forming  some  plan  of  accomodation 
for  their  little  society.  Here  he  discovered 
that  the  paths  were  rough;  there,  that  the  fam- 
ily circle  was  ill-seated:  sometimes  the  young 
arbours  did  not  afford  sufficient  shade,  and  Vir- 
ginia might  be  better  placed  elsewhere. 

In  the  rainy  seasons  the  two  families  assembled 
together  in  the  cottage,  and  employed  them- 
selves in  weaving  mats  of  grass,  and  baskets  of 
bamboo.  Rakes,  spades,  and  hatchets  were  ran- 
ged along  the  walls  in  the  most  perfect  order,  and 
near  those  instruments  of  agriculture  were  placed 
the  productions  which  were  the  fruits  of  labor; 
sacks  of  rice,  sheaves  of  corn,  and  baskets  of 
the  plantain  fruit.  Some  degree  of  luxury  is 
usually  united  with  plenty,  and  Virginia  was 
taught  by  her  mother  and  Margaret  to  prepare 
sherbet  and  cordials  from  the  juice  of  the  sugar- 
cane, the  orange,  and  the  citron. 

When  night  came,  those  families  supped  to- 
gether by  the  light  of  a  lamp :  after  which  Mad- 


52  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

ame  de  la  Tour  or  Margaret  related  histories  of 
travellers  lost  during  the  night  in  such  of  the  for- 
ests of  Europe  as  are  infested  by  banditti ;  or  told 
a  dismal  tale  of  some  ship-wrecked  vessel  thrown 
by  the  tempest  upon  the  rocks  of  a  desert  isl- 
and. To  these  recitals  their  children  listened 
with  eager  sensibility,  and  earnestly  begged 
that  Heaven  would  grant  they  might  one  day 
have  the  joy  of  shewing  their  hospitality  towards 
such  unfortunate  persons.  At  length  the  two 
families  separated  and  retired  to  rest,  impatient 
to  meet  again  the  next  morning.  Sometimes 
they  were  lulled  to  repose  by  the  beating  rains 
which  fell  in  torrents  upon  the  roof  of  their  cot- 
tages; and  sometimes  by  the  hollow  winds, 
which  brought  to  their  ear  the  distant  murmur 
of  the  waves  breaking  upon  the  shore.  They 
blessed  God  for  their  personal  safety,  of  which 
their  feeling  became  stronger  from  the  idea  of 
remote  danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read  aloud 
some  affecting  history  of  the  old  or  new  testa- 
ment. Her  auditors  reasoned  but  little  upon 
those  sacred  books,  for  their  theology  consisted 
in  sentiment,  like  that  of  nature;  and  their  mo- 
rality in  action,  like  that  of  the  gospel.  Those 
families  had  no  particular  days  devoted  to  pleas- 
ure and  others  to  sadness.  Every  day  was  to 
them  a  holiday,  and  all  which  surrounded  them 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  53 

one  holy  temple,  where  they  for  ever  adored  an 
infinite  intelligence,  the  friend  of  human  kind. 
A  sentiment  of  confidence  in  his  supreme  power 
filled  their  minds  with  consolation  respecting 
the  past,  with  fortitude  for  the  present,  and  with 
hope  for  the  future.  Thus,  compelled  by  mis- 
fortune to  return  to  a  state  of  nature,  those 
women  had  unfolded  in  their  own  bosoms,  and 
in  those  of  their  children,  the  feelings  which  are 
most  natural  to  the  human  mind,  and  which  are 
our  best  support  under  evil. 

But  as  clouds  sometimes  arise  which  cast 
a  gloom  over  the  best  regulated  tempers,  when- 
ever melancholy  took  possession  of  any  member 
of  this  little  society,  the  rest  endeavored  to  ban- 
ish painful  thoughts  rather  by  sentiment  than  by 
arguments.  Margaret  exerted  her  gaiety.  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour  employed  her  mild  theology. 
Virginia,  her  tender  caresses.  Paul,  his  cor- 
dial and  engaging  frankness.  Even  Mary  and 
Domingo  hastened  to  offer  their  succor,  and  to 
weep  with  those  that  wept.  Thus  weak  plants 
are  interwoven  in  order  to  resist  the  tempests. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every 
Sunday  to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove, 
the  steeple  of  which  you  see  yonder  upon  the 
plain.  After  service  the  poor  often  came  to  re- 
quire some  kind  office  at  their  hands.  Some- 
times an  unhappy  creature  sought  their  advice, 


54  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

sometimes  a  child  led  them  to  its  sick  mother  in 
the  neighborhood.  They  always  took  with  them 
remedies  for  the  ordinary  diseases  of  the  coun- 
try, which  they  administered  in  that  soothing 
manner  which  stamps  so  much  value  upon  the 
smallest  favors.  Above  all,  they  succeeded  in 
banishing  the  disorders  of  the  mind,  which  are 
so  intolerable  in  solitude,  and  under  the  infirmi- 
ties of  a  weakened  frame.  Madame  de  la  Tour 
spoke  with  such  sublime  confidence  of  the  Di- 
vinity, that  the  sick,  while  listening  to  her,  be- 
lieved that  he  was  present.  Virginia  often  re- 
turned home,  with  her  eyes  wet  with  tears,  and 
her  heart  overflowing  with  delight,  having  had 
an  opportunity  of  doing  good.  After  those  vis- 
its of  charity  they  sometimes  prolonged  their 
way  by  the  sloping  mountain,  till  they  reached 
my  dwelling,  where  I  had  prepared  dinner  for 
them,  upon  the  banks  of  the  little  river  which 
glides  near  my  cottage.  I  produced  on  those 
occasions  some  bottles  of  old  wine,  in  order  to 
heighten  the  gaiety  of  our  Indian  repast  by  the 
cordial  productions  of  Europe.  Sometimes  we 
met  upon  the  sea-shore,  at  the  mouth  of  little 
rivers,  which  are  here  scarcely  larger  than 
brooks.  We  brought  from  the  plantation  our 
vegetable  provisions,  to  which  we  added  such 
as  the  sea  furnished  in  great  variety.  Seated 
upon  a  rock  beneath  the  shade  of  the  velvet 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  55 

sun-flower,  we  heard  the  mountain  billows  break 
at  our  feet  with  a  dashing  noise,  and  sometimes 
on  that  spot  we  listened  to  the  plaintive  strains 
of  the  water  curlew. 

Our  repasts  were  succeeded  by  the  songs  and 
dances  of  the  two  young  beings.  Virginia  sung 
the  happiness  of  pastoral  life,  and  the  misery  of 
those  who  were  impelled  by  avarice  to  cross 
the  furious  ocean  rather  than  cultivate  the  earth 
and  enjoy  its  peaceful  bounties.  Sometimes 
she  performed  a  pantomime  with  Paul  in  the 
manner  of  the  negroes.  The  first  language  of 
men  is  pantomime;  it  is  known  to  all  nations, 
and  is  so  natural  and  so  expressive,  that  the 
children  of  the  European  inhabitants  catch  it 
with  facility  from  the  negroes.  Virginia  recall- 
ing, among  the  histories  which  her  mother  had 
read  to  her,  those  which  had  affected  her  most, 
represented  the  principal  events  with  beautiful 
simplicity.  Sometimes  at  the  sound  of  Domin- 
go's tamtam  she  appeared  upon  the  green-sward, 
bearing  a  pitcher  upon  her  head,  and  advanced 
with  a  timid  step  towards  the  source  of  a  neigh- 
boring fountain,  to  draw  water.  Domingo  and 
Mary,  who  personated  the  shepherds  of  Midian, 
forbade  her  approach,  and  repulsed  her  sternly. 
Upon  which  Paul  flew  to  her  succor,  beat  away 
the  shepherds,  filled  Virginia's  pitcher,  and 
placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound  her  brows  at 


56  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

the  same  time  with  a  wreath  of  the  red  flow- 
ers of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  which  ser- 
ved to  heighten  the  delicacy  of  her  complex- 
ion. Then  joining  their  sports,  I  took  upon 
me  the  part  of  Raguel,  and  bestowed  upon  Paul 
my  daughter  Zipporah  in  marriage. 

Sometimes  Virginia  represented  the  unfortu- 
nate Ruth,  returning  poor  and  widowed  to  her 
own  country,  where,  after  so  long  an  absence, 
she  found  herself  as  in  a  foreign  land.  Domin- 
go and  Mary  personated  the  reapers.  Virginia 
followed  their  steps,  gleaning  here  and  there  a 
few  ears  of  corn.  She  was  interrogated  by 
Paul  with  the  gravity  of  'a  patriarch,  and  an- 
swered, with  a  faltering  voice,  his  questions. 
Soon  touched  with  compassiom,  he  granted  an 
asylum  to  innocence,  and  hospitality  to  misfor- 
tune. He  filled  Virginia's  lap  with  plenty,  and, 
leading  her  towards  us  as  before  the  old  men  of 
the  city,  declared  his  purpose  to  take  her  in 
marriage.  At  this  scene,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
recalling  the  desolate  situation  in  which  she  had 
been  left  by  her  relations,  her  widowhood,  the 
kind  reception  she  had  met  with  from  Margaret, 
succeeded  by  the  soothing  hope  of  a  happy 
union  between  their  children  could  not  forbear 
weeping ;  and  the  sensations  which  such  recol- 
lections excited,  led  the  whole  audience  to  pour 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  57 

forth  those  luxurious  tears  which  have  their 
mingled  source  in  sorrow  and  in  joy. 

These  dramas  were  performed  with  such  an 
air  of  reality,  that  you  might  have  fancied  your- 
self transported  to  the  plains  of  Syria,  or  of 
Palestine.  We  were  not  unfurnished  with 
either  decorations,  lights,  or  an  orchestra,  suit- 
able to  the  representation.  The  scene  was  gen- 
erally placed  in  an  opening  of  the  forest,  where 
such  parts  of  the  wood  as  were  penetrable 
formed  around  us  numerous  arcades  of  foliage, 
beneath  which  we  were  sheltered  from  the  heat 
during  the  whole  day;  but  when  the  sun  de- 
scended towards  the  horizon,  its  rays  broken 
upon  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  diverged  among 
the  shadows  of  the  forest  in  long  lines  of  light, 
which  produced  the  most  sublime  effect.  Some- 
times the  whole  of  its  broad  disk  appeared  at 
the  end  of  an  avenue,  spreading  one  dazzling 
mass  of  brightness.  The  foliage  of  the  trees, 
illuminated  from  beneath  by  its  saffron  beams, 
glowed  with  the  lusture  of  the  topaz  and  the 
emerald.  Their  brown  and  mossy  trunks  ap- 
peared transformed  into  columns  of  antique 
bronze,  and  the  birds,  who  had  retired  in  silenee 
to  their  leafy  shades  to  pass  the  night,  surprised 
to  see  the  radiance  of  a  second  morning,  hailed 
the  star  of  day  with  innumerable  carols. 

Night  soon  overtook  us  during  those  rural 


68  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

entertainments;  but  the  purity  of  the  air  and 
the  mildness  of  the  climate  admitted  of  our 
sleeping  in  the  woods,  secure  from  the  injuries 
of  the  weather,  and  no  less  secure  from  moles- 
tation from  robbers.  At  our  return  the  follow- 
ing day  to  our  respective  habitations,  we  found 
them  exactly  in  the  same  state  in  which  they 
had  been  left.  In  this  island,  which  then  had 
no  commerce,  there  was  so  much  simplicity  and 
good  faith,  that  the  doors  of  several  houses 
were  without  a  key,  and  a  lock  was  an  object 
of  curiosity  to  many  of  the  natives. 

Paul  and  Virginia  had  neither  clock  nor  al- 
manac, or  books  of  chronology,  history,  or  phi- 
losophy. The  periods  of  their  lives  were  regu- 
lated by  those  of  nature.  They  knew  the  hours 
of  the  day  by  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  the  sea- 
sons by  the  times  when  those  trees  bore  flowers 
or  fruit,  and  the  years  by  the  number  of  their 
harvests.  These  soothing  images  diffused  an 
inexpressible  charm  over  their  conversation. 
*  It  is  time  to  dine,'  said  Virginia,  f  the  shad- 
ows of  the  plaintain-trees  are  at  their  roots,'  — 
or,  i  night  approaches,  the  tamarinds  close  their 
leaves.'  c  When  will  you  come  to  see  us?'  in- 
quired some  of  her  companions  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. £  At  the  time  of  the  sugar-canes,'  an- 
swered Virginia.  '  Your  visit  will  be  then  still 
more  delightful,'  resumed  her  young  acquaint- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  59 

ances.  When  she  was  asked  what  was  her 
own  age,  and  that  of  Paul;  '  My  brother,5  said 
she,  '  is  as  old  as  the  great  cocoa-tree  of  the 
fountain;  and  I  am  as  old  as  the  little  cocoa- 
tree —  the  mangoes  have  borne  fruit  twelve 
times,  and  the  orange-trees  have  borne  flowers 
four  and  twenty  times,  since  I  was  born.' 
Their  lives  seemed  linked  to  the  trees  like  those 
of  fawns  or  dryads.  They  knew  no  other  his- 
torical epochs  than  the  lives  of  their  mothers, 
no  other  chronology  than  that  of  their  orchards, 
and  no  other  philosophy  than  that  of  doing 
good,  and  resigning  themselves  to  the  will  of 
Heaven. 

Thus  grew  those  children  of  nature.  No 
care  had  troubled  their  peace,  no  intemperance 
had  corrupted  their  blood,  no  misplaced  passion 
had  depraved  their  hearts.  Love,  innocence, 
and  piety,  possessed  their  souls,  and  those  in- 
tellectual graces  unfolded  themselves  in  their 
features,  their  attitudes,  and  their  motions. 
Still  in  the  morning  of  life,  they  had  all  its 
blooming  freshness;  and  surely  such  in  the 
garden  of  Eden  appeared  our  first  parents  when, 
coming  from  the  hands  of  God,  they  first  saw, 
approached,  and  conversed  together,  like  broth- 
er and  sister.  Virginia  was  gentle,  modest, 
and  confiding  as  Eve;  and  Paul,  like  Adam4, 


60  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

united  the  figure  of  manhood  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  child. 

When  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has  a  thousand 
times  told  me  he  used  to  say  to  her  at  his  re- 
turn from  labor,  '  When  I  am  wearied,  the 
sight  of  you  refreshes  me.  If  from  the  summit 
of  the  mountain  I  perceive  you  below  in  the 
valley,  you  appear  to  me  in  the  midst  of  our  or- 
chard like  a  blushing  rose  bud.  If  you  go  to- 
wards our  mother's  house,  the  partridge,  when 
it  runs  to  meet  its  young,  has  a  shape  less  beau- 
tiful, and  a  step  less  light.  When  I  lose  sight 
of  you  through  the  trees,  I  have  no  need  to  see 
you  in  order  to  find  you  again.  Something  of 
you,  I  know  not  how,  remains  for  me  in  the  air 
where  you  have  passed,  in  the  grass  where  you 
have  been  seated.  When  I  come  near  you, 
you  delight  all  my  senses.  The  azure  of  heaven 
is  less  charming  than  the  blue  of  your  eyes,  and 
the  song  of  the  bengali  less  soft  than  the  sound 
of  your  voice.  If  I  only  touch  you  with  my 
finger,  my  whole  frame  trembles  with  pleasure. 
Do  you  remember  the  day  when  we  crossed 
over  the  great  stones  of  the  river  of  the  Three 
Peaks  ?  I  was  very  much  tired  before  we 
reached  the  bank,  but  as  soon  as  I  had  taken 
you  in  my  arms,  I  seemed  to  have  wings  like  a 
bird.  Tell  me  by  what  charm  you  have  so  en- 
chanted me?  Is  it  by  your  wisdom?  Our  mo- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  61 

thers  have  more  than  either  of  us.  Is  it  by 
your  caresses?  They  embrace  me  much  oft- 
ener  than  you.  I  think  it  must  be  by  your 
goodness.  I  shall  never  forget  how  you  walk- 
ed bare-footed  to  the  Black  River,  to  ask  pardon 
for  the  poor  wandering  slave.  Here,  my  be- 
loved! take  this  flowering  orange-branch,  which 
I  have  culled  in  the  forest;  you  will  place  it  at 
night  near  your  bed.  Eat  this  honey-comb 
which  I  have  taken  for  you  from  the  top  of  a 
rock.  But  first  lean  upon  my  bosom,  and  I 
shall  be  refreshed.' 

Virginia  then  answered,  '  O,  my  dear  broth- 
er, the  rays  of  the  sun  in  the  morning  at  the 
top  of  the  rocks,  give  me  less  joy  than  the  sight 
of  you.  I  love  my  mother,  I  love  yours  ;  but 
when  they  call  you  their  son,  I  love  them  a 
thousand  times  more.  When  they  caress  you, 
I  feel  it  more  sensibly  than  when  I  am  caressed 
myself.  You  ask  me  why  you  love  you.  Why  ? 
all  creatures  that  are  brought  up  together  love 
one  another.  Look  at  our  birds  reared  up  in 
the  same  nests  —  they  love  like  us — they  are 
always  together  like  us.  Hark  !  how  they  call 
and  answer  from  one  tree  to  another.  So  when 
the  echoes  bring  to  my  ear  the  airs  which  you 
play  upon  your  flute  at  the  top  of  the  mountain, 
I  repeat  the  words  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley. 
Above  all,  you  are  dear  to  me  since  the  day 


62  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

when  you  wanted  to  fight  the  master  of  the 
slave  for  me.     Since  that  time  how  often  I  have 
said  to  myself,    '  Ah,   my  brother  has  a  good 
heart;  but  for  him  I  should  have  died  of  terror.' 
I  pray  to  God  every  day  for  my  mother  and 
yours  ;  for  you,  and  for  our  poor  servants  :  but 
when    I    pronounce    your   name,  my    devotion 
seems  to  increase.     I  ask  so  earnestly  of  God, 
that  no  harm  may  befall  you  !     Why  do  you  go 
so  far,   and  climb  so  high,  to  seek  fruits  and 
flowers  for  me  ?     How  much  you  are  fatigued!' 
—  and  with  her  little  white  handkerchief  she 
wiped  the  damps  from  his  brow,  and  kissed  it. 
For  some  time  past,  however,  Virginia  had 
felt  her  heart  agitated  by  new  sensations.     Her 
fine  blue  eyes  lost  their  lustre,   her  cheek  its 
freshness,  and  her  frame  was  seized  with  uni- 
versal languor.     Serenity  no  longer  sat  upon 
her  brow,   nor  did  smiles  play  upon  her  lips. 
She  become  suddenly  gay  without  joy,  and  mel- 
ancholy without  vexation.     She  fled  her  inno- 
cent sports,  her  gentle  labors,  and  the  society 
of  her   beloved  family  ;    wandering  along  the 
most  unfrequented  parts  of  the  plantation,  and 
seeking  every  where  that  rest  which  she  could 
no  where  find.     Sometimes  at  the  sight  of  Paul 
she  advanced  sportively  towards  him,  and,  wThen 
going  to  accost  him,  was  seized  with  sudden 
confusion  ;    her  pale  cheeks  were   overspread 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  63 

with  blushes,  and  her  eyes  no  longer  dared  to 
meet  those  of  her  brother.  Paul  said  to  her, 
'  The  rocks  are  covered  with  verdure,  our  birds 
begin  to  sing  when  you  approach,  every  thing 
around  you  is  gay,  and  you  only  are  unhappy.' 
He  endeavored  to  sooth  her  by  his  embraces, 
but  she  turned  away  her  head,  and  fled  trem- 
bling towards  her  mother.  The  caresses  of  her 
brother  excited  too  much  emotion  in  her  agita- 
ted heart.  Paul  could  not  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  those  new  and  strange  caprices. 

One  of  those  summers,  which  sometimes  deso- 
late the  countries  situated  between  the  tropics, 
now  spread  its  ravages  over  this  island.  It  was 
near  the  end  of  December,  when  the  sun  at 
Capricorn  darts  over  the  Isle  of  France  during 
the  space  of  three  weeks,  its  vertical  fires. 
The  south-wind,  which  prevails  almost  through- 
out the  whole  year,  no  longer  blew.  Vast  col- 
umns of  dust  arose  from  the  highways,  and  hung 
suspended  in  the  air  ;  the  ground  was  every 
where  broken  into  clefts;  the  grass  was  burnt; 
hot  exhalations  issued  from  the  sides  of  the 
mountains,  and  their  rivulets,  for  the  most  part, 
became  dry  ;  fiery  vapors  during  the  day  as- 
cended from  the  plains,  and  appeared  at  the 
setting  of  the  sun  like  a  conflagration  :  night 
brought  no  coolness  to  the  heated  atmosphere  : 
the  orb  of  the  moon  seemed  of  blood,  and,  ris- 


64  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

ing  in  a  misty  horizon,  appeared  of  supernatural 
magnitude.  The  drooping  cattle  on  the  sides 
of  the  hills,  stretching  out  their  necks  towards 
heaven,  and  panting  for  air,  made  the  valleys 
re-echo  with  their  melancholy  lowings  ;  even 
the  caffre,  by  whom  they  were  led,  threw  him- 
self upon  the  earth  in  search  of  coolness,  but 
the  scorching  sun  had  every  where  penetrated, 
and  the  stifling  atmosphere  sounded  with  the 
buzzing  noise  of  insects,  who  sought  to  allay 
their  thirst  in  the  blood  of  men  and  animals. 

On  one  of  those  sultry  days,  Virginia,  rest- 
less and  unhappy,  arose,  then  went  again  to 
rest,  but  could  find  in  no  attitude  either  slumber 
or  repose.  At  length  she  bent  her  way  by  the 
light  of  the  moon  towards  her  fountain,  and  ga- 
zed at  its  spring,  which,  notwithstanding  the 
drought,  still  flowed  like  silver  threads  down  the 
brown  sides  of  the  rock.  She  flung  herself  into 
the  bason.  Its  coolness  re-animated  her  spirits, 
and  a  thousand  soothing  remembrances  present- 
ed themselves  to  her  mind.  She  recollected 
that  in  her  infancy  her  mother  and  Margaret 
amused  themselves  by  bathing  her  with  Paul  in 
this  very  spot.  That  Paul  afterwards,  reserv- 
ing this  bath  for  her  use  only,  had  dug  its  bed, 
covered  the  bottom  with  sand,  and  sown  aroma- 
tic herbs  round  the  borders.  She  saw,  reflect- 
ed through  the  water  upon  her  naked  arms  and 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  65 

bosom,  the  two  cocoa-trees  which  were  planted 
at  her  birth  and  that  of  her  brother,  and  which 
interwove  above  her  head  their  green  branches 
and  young  fruit.  She  thought  of  Paul's  friend- 
ship sweeter  than  the  odors,  purer  than  the  wa- 
ters of  the  fountain,  stronger  than  the  intertwin- 
ing palm-trees,  and  she  sighed  !  Reflecting 
upon  the  hour  of  the  night,  and  the  profound 
solitude,  her  imagination  again  grew  disordered. 
Suddenly  she  flew  affrighted  from  those  danger- 
ous shades,  and  those  waters  which  she  fancied 
hotter  than  the  torrid  sun-beam,  and  ran  to  her 
mother  in  order  to  find  a  refuge  from  herself. 
Often,  wishing  to  unfold  her  sufferings,  she 
pressed  her  mother's  hands  within  her  own,  of- 
ten she  was  ready  to  pronounce  the  name  of 
Paul;  but  her  oppressed  heart  left  not  her  lips 
the  power  of  utterance;  and,  leaning  her  head 
on  her  mother's  bosom,  she  could  only  bathe  it 
with  her  tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  though  she  easily  dis- 
cerned the  source  of  her  daughter's  uneasiness, 
did  not  think  proper  to  speak  to  her  on  that  sub- 
ject. *  My  dear  child,'  said  she,  '  address 
yourself  to  God,  who  disposes  at  his  will  of 
health  and  of  life.  He  tries  you  now  in  order 
to  recompense  you  hereafter.  Remember  that 
we  are  only  placed  upon  earth  for  the  exercise 
of  virtue.' 

5 


66  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

The  excessive  heat  drew  vapors  from  the 
ocean,  which  hung  over  the  island  like  a  vast 
awning,  and  gathered  round  the  summits  of  the 
mountains,  while  long  flakes  of  fire  occasionally 
issued  from  their  misty  peaks.  Soon  after  the 
most  terrible  thunder  re-echoed  through  the 
woods,  the  plains,  and  the  valleys  ;  the  rains  fell 
from  the  skies  like  cataracts  ;  foaming  torrents 
rolled  down  the  sides  of  this  mountain;  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley  became  a  sea  ;  the  plat  of 
ground  on  which  the  cottages  were  built,  a  little 
island  ;  and  the  entrance  of  this  valley  a  gulley, 
along  which  rushed  precipitately  the  moaning 
waters,  earth,  trees,  and  rocks. 

Meantime  the  trembling  family  addressed 
their  prayers  to  God  in  the  cottage  of  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  the  roof  of  which  cracked  horribly 
from  the  struggling  winds.  So  vivid  and  fre- 
quent were  the  lightnings,  that  although  the 
doors^  and  window-shutters  were  well  fastened, 
every  object  without  was  distinctly  seen  through 
the  jointed  beams.  Paul,  followed  by  Domingo, 
went  with  intrepidity  from  one  cottage  to  an- 
other, notwithstanding  the  fury  of  the  tempest  ; 
here  supporting  a  partition  with  a  cross-beam, 
there  driving  in  a  stake,  and  only  returning  to 
the  family  to  calm  their  fears  by  the  hope  that 
the  storm  was  passing  away.  Accordingly,  in 
the  evening  the  rains  ceased,  the  trade-wind  of 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  67 

the  south  pursued  its  ordinary  course,  the  tem- 
pestuous clouds  were  driven  towards  the  north- 
east, and  the  setting  sun  appeared  in  the  hor- 
izon. 

Virginia's  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot  cal- 
led her  Repose.  Paul  approached  her  with  a 
timid  air,  and  offered  her  the  assistance  of  his 
arm,  which  she  accepted,  smiling,  and  they  left 
the  cottage  together.  The  air  was  fresh  and 
clear;  white  vapors  arose  from  the  ridges  of  the 
mountains,  furrowed  here  and  there  by  the  foam 
of  the  torrents,  which  were  now  becoming  dry. 
The  garden  was  altogether  destroyed  by  the 
hollows  which  the  floods  had  worn,  the  roots  of 
the  fruit-trees  were  for  the  most  part  laid  bare, 
and  vast  heaps  of  sand  covered  the  chain  of 
meadows,  and  choaked  up  Virginia's  bath. 
The  two  cocoa-trees,  however,  were  still  erect, 
and  still  retained  their  freshness,  but  they  were 
no  longer  surrounded  by  turf,  or  arbors,  or 
birds,  except  a  few  bengalies,  who  upon  the 
points  of  the  neighboring  rocks,  lamented  in 
plaintive  notes  the  loss  of  their  young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation,  Vir- 
ginia exclaimed  to  Paul,  '  You  brought  birds 
hither,  and  the  hurricane  has  killed  them. — 
You  planted  this  garden,  and  it  is  now  destroy- 
ed.—  Every  thing  then  upon  earth  perishes, 
and  it  is  only  heaven  that  is  not  subject  to 


68  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

change.'  'Why,'  answered  Paul,  cwhy  can- 
not I  give  you  something  which  belongs  to 
heaven  ?  But  I  am  possessed  of  nothing  even 
upon  earth.'  Virginia  blushing  resumed,  *  You 
have  the  portrait  of  St.  Paul. '  Scarcely  had  she 
pronounced  the  words,  when  he  flew  in  search 
of  it  to  his  mother's  cottage.  This  picture  was 
a  small  miniature  representing  Paul  the  hermit, 
and  which  Margaret,  who  was  very  pious,  had 
long  worn  hung  at  her  neck,  when  she  was  a 
girl,  and  which,  since  she  became  a  mother, 
she  had  placed  round  the  neck  of  her  child. 
She  therefore  bestowed  upon  him  the  name  of 
Paul,  giving  him  for  his  patron  a  saint  who  had 
passed  his  life  far  from  mankind,  by  whom  he 
had  been  first  deceived,  and  then  forsaken. 
Virginia,  upon  receiving  this  little  picture  from 
the  hands  of  Paul,  said  to  him  with  emotion, 
1  My  dear  brother,  I  will  never  part  with  this 
while  I  live,  nor  will  I  ever  forget  that  you 
have  ^iven  me  the  only  thing  which  you  pos- 
sess in  the  world.'  At  this  tone  of  friendship, 
this  unhoped  for  return  of  familiarity  and  ten- 
derness, Paul  attempted  to  embrace  her  ;  but 
light  as  a  bird  she  fled,  and  left  him  astonished, 
and  unable  to  account  for  a  conduct  so  extraor- 
dinary. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  '  Why  do  we  not  unite  our  children  by 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  69 

marriage  ?  they  have  a  tender  attachment  for 
each  other.'  Madame  de  la  Tour  replied,  '  They 
are  too  young  and  too  poor.  What  grief  would 
it  occasion  us  to  see  Virginia  with  the  cares  of 
a  family  which  she  would  not,  perhaps,  have 
strength  to  support.  Your  negro  Domingo  is 
almost  too  old  to  labor ;  Mary  is  infirm ;  and 
as  for  myself,  my  dear  friend,  in  the  space  of 
fifteen  years,  I  find  my  health  much  impaired. 
Age  advances  rapidly  in  hot  climates,  and,  above 
all,  under  the  pressure  of  misfortune.  Paul  is 
our  only  hope  :  let  us  wait  till  his  constitution 
is  strengthened,  and  till  he  can  support  us  by 
his  labor.  At  present,  you  well  know  that  we 
have  only  sufficient  to  supply  the  wants  of  the 
day:  but  were  we  to  send  Paul  for  a  short  time 
to  the  Indies,  commerce  would  furnish  him 
with  the  means  of  purchasing  some  slaves.  On 
his  return,  we  will  unite  him  to  Virginia;  for  I 
am  persuaded  no  one  on  earth  can  render  her 
so  happy  as  your  son.  We  will  consult  our 
neighbor  on  this  subject.' 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  and  I 
was  of  their  opinion.  e  The  Indian  seas,'  I  ob- 
served to  them,  '  are  calm,  and,  in  choosing  a 
favorable  season,  the  voyage  is  seldom  longer 
than  six  weeks.  We  will  furnish  Paul  with  a 
little  venture,  for  he  is  very  much  beloved  by  my 
neighbors.  If  we  were  only  to  supply  him  with 


70  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA, 

some  raw  cotton,  of  which  we  make  no  use,  for 
want  of  mills  to  work  it;  some  ebony,  which  is 
here  so  common  that  it  serves  us  for  fuel,  and 
some  rosin,  which  is  found  in  our  woods,  all 
those  articles  will  sell  advantageously  in  the 
Indies,  though  to  us  they  are  useless.' 

I  engaged  to  obtain  permission  from  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais  to  undertake  this  voyage  ; 
but  I  determined  previously  to  mention  the  af- 
fair to  Paul;  and  my  surprise  was  great  when 
this  young  man  said  to  me,  with  a  degree  of 
good  sense  above  his  age,  l  And  why  do  you 
wish  me  to  leave  my  family  for  this  precarious 
pursuit  of  fortune  ?  Is  there  any  commerce 
more  advantageous  than  the  culture  of  the 
ground,  which  yields  sometimes  fifty  or  an  hun- 
dred fold?  If  we  wish  to  engage  in  commerce, 
we  can  do  so  by  carrying  our  superfluities  to 
the  town,  without  my  wandering  to  the  Indies. 
Our  mothers  tell  me,  that  Domingo  is  old  and 
feeble,  but  I  am  young,  and  gather  strength 
every  day.  If  any  accident  should  happen 
during  my  absence,  above  all,  to  Virginia,  who 
already  suffers.  Oh,  no,  no !  —  I  cannot  resolve 
to  leave  them. 

This  answer  threw  me  into  great  perplexity; 
for  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not  concealed  from 
me  the  situation  of  Virginia,  and  her  desire  of 
separating  those  young  people  for  a  few  years. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  71 

These  ideas  I  did  not  dare  to  suggest  to  Paul. 

At  this  period  a  ship,  which  arrived  from 
France,  brought  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  letter 
from  her  aunt.  Alarmed  by  the  terrors  of  ap- 
proaching death,  which  could  alone  penetrate  a 
heart  so  insensible,  recovering  from  a  danger- 
ous disorder  which  had  left  her  in  a  state  of 
weakness,  rendered  incurable  by  age,  she  de- 
sired that  her  niece  would  return  to  France;  or, 
if  her  health  forbade  her  to  undertake  so  long  a 
voyage,  she  conjured  her  to  send  Virginia,  on 
whom  she  would  bestow  a  good  education,  pro- 
cure for  her  a  splendid  marriage,  and  leave  her 
the  inheritance  of  her  whole  fortune.  The  pe- 
rusal of  this  letter  spread  general  consternation 
through  the  family.  Domingo  and  Mary  began 
to  weep.  Paul,  motionless  with  surprise,  ap- 
peared as  if  his  heart  was  ready  to  burst  with 
indignation;  while  Virginia,  fixing  her  eyes 
upon  her  mother,  had  not  power  to  utter  a  word. 

'  And  can  you  now  leave  us?'  cried  Margaret 
to  Madame  de  la  Tour.  '  No,  my  dear  friend, 
no,  my  beloved  children,'  replied  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  '  I  will  not  leave  you  —  I  have  lived 
with  you,  and  with  you  I  will  die — I  have 
known  no  happiness  but  in  your  affection  —  if 
my  health  be  deranged,  my  past  fortunes  are 
the  cause  :  — my  heart  deeply  wounded  by  the 
Cruelty  of  a  relation,  and  the  loss  of  my  hus- 


72  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

band,  has  found  more  consolation  and  felicity 
with  you  beneath  these  humble  huts,  than  all 
the  wealth  of  my  family  could  now  give  me  in 
my  own  country.' 

At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  overflow- 
ed with  tears  of  delight.  Paul,  pressing  Mad- 
ame de  la  Tour  in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  '  Nei- 
ther will  I  leave  you!  —  I  will  not  go  to  the 
Indies  —  we  will  all  labor  for  you,  my  dear 
mother,  and  you  shall  never  feel  any  wants  with 
us.'  But  of  the  whole  society,  the  person  who 
displayed  the  least  transport,  and  who  probably 
felt  the  most,  was  Virginia;  and,  during  the 
remainder  of  the  day,  that  gentle  gaiety  which 
flowed  from  her  heart,  and  proved  that  her  peace 
was  restored,  completed  the  general  satisfaction. 

The  next  day  at  sun-rise,  while  they  were 
offering  up  as  usual  their  morning  sacrifice  of 
praise,  which  preceeded  their  breakfast,  Domin- 
go informed  them  that  a  gentleman  on  horseback, 
followed  by  two  slaves,  was  coming  towards  the 
plantation.  This  person  was  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais.  He  entered  the  cottage,  where 
he  found  the  family  at  breakfast.  Virginia  had 
prepared,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try, coffee,  and  rice  boiled  in  water;  to  which 
she  added  hot  yams,  and  fresh  cocoas.  The 
leaves  of  the  plantain-tree  supplied  the  want  of 
linen,  and  calbassia-shells,  split  in  two,  served 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  1& 

for  utensils.  The  governor  expressed  some? 
surprise  at  the  homeliness  of  the  dwelling:  thenr 
addressing  himself  to  Madame  de  la  Tour^  he 
observed  that,  although  public  affairs  drew  Iner 
attention  too  much  from  the  concerns  of  individ*-" 
uals,  she  had  many  claims  to  his  good  offices.* 
c  You  have  an  aunt  at  Paris,  madam, 'he  added, 
*  a  woman  of  quality,  and  immensely  rich,  who 
expects  that  you  will  hasten  to  see  her,  and  who 
means  to  bestow  upon  you  her  whole  fortune.7 
Madame  de  la  Tour  replied,  that  the  state  of 
her  health  would  not  permit  her  to  undertake  so 
long  a  voyage.  c  At  least,'  resumed  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais,  c  you  cannot,  without  injus- 
tice, deprive  this  amiable  young  lady,  your 
daughter,  of  so  noble  an  inheritance.  I  will 
not  conceal  from  you,  that  your  aunt  has  made 
use  of  her  influence  to  oblige  you  to  return, 
and  that  I  have  received  official  letters,  in  which 
I  am  ordered  to  exert  my  authority,  if  necessa- 
ry, to  that  effect.  But,  as  I  only  wish  to  employ 
my  power  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  the  in- 
habitants of  this  colony  happy,  I  expect  from 
your  good  sense  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  a  few 
years,  upon  which  depend  your  daughter's  es- 
tablishment in  the  world,  and  the  welfare  of 
your  whole  life.  Wherefore  do  we  come  to 
these  islands  ?  Is  it  not  to  acquire  a  fortune  ? 


74  PAUL    AND    TIRGINIA. 

And  will  it  not  be  more  agreeable  to  return  and 
find  it  in  your  own  country? 

He  then  placed  a  large  bag  of  piasters,  which 
had  been  brought  by  one  of  his  slaves,  upon  the 
table.  c  This7  added  he,  '  is  allotted  by  your 
aunt  for  the  preparations  necessary  for  the 
young  lady's  voyage.'  Gently  reproaching 
Madame  de  la  Tour  for  not  having  had  recourse 
to  himin  her  difficulties,  he  extolled  at  the  same 
time  her  noble  fortitude.  Upon  this  Paul  said 
to  the  governor,  f  My  mother  did  address  her- 
self to  you,  Sir,  and  her  reception  was  unkind.' 

*  Have  you  another  child,  Madam?'    said  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Bourdonnais  to  Madam  de  la  Tour. 

*  No,  Sir,'  she  replied,  this  is  the   child   of  my 
friend;   but  he  and  Virginia  are  equally  dear  to 
us.'     '  Young  man,'  saicS  the  governor  to  Paul, 
1  when  you  have  acquired  a  little   experience  of 
the  world,  you  will  know  that  it  is  the  misfortune 
of  people  in  office  to  be  deceived,    and  thence 
to  bestow  upon  intriguing  vice  that  which  be- 
longs to  modest  merit.' 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  request 
of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  placed  himself  next  her 
at  table,  and  breakfasted  in  the  manner  of  the 
Creoles,  upon  coffee  mixed  with  rice,  boiled  in 
water.  He  was  delighted  with  the  order  and 
neatness  which  prevailed  in  the  little  cottage, 
the  harmony  of  the  two  interesting  families,  and 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  75 

the  zeal  of  their  old  servants,  c  Here,'  ex- 
claimed he,  'I  discern  only  wooden  furniture, 
but  I  find  serene  countenances,  and  hearts  of 
gold.'  Paul,  enchanted  with  the  affability  of 
the  governor,  said  to  him,  '  I  wish  to  be  your 
friend;  you  are  a  good  man.'  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  received  with  pleasure  this  insular 
compliment,  and,  taking  Paul  by  the  hand,  as- 
sured him  that  he  might  rely  upon  his  friend- 
ship.' 

After  breakfast  he  took  Madame  de  la  Tour 
aside,  and  informed  her  that  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  of  sending  her  daughter  to 
France  in  a  ship  which  was  going  to  sail  in  a 
short  time ;  that  he  would  recommend  her  to  a 
lady,  a  relation  of  his  own,  who  would  be  a  pas- 
senger, and  that  she  must  not  think  of  renoun- 
cing an  immense  fortune,  on  account  of  being 
separated  from  her  daughter  a  few  years. 
'  Your  aunt,'  he  added,  £  cannot  live  more  than 
two  years:  of  this  I  am  assured  by  her  friends. 
Think  of  it  seriously.  Fortune  does  not  visit 
us  every  day.  Consult  your  friends.  Every 
person  of  good  sense  will  be  of  my  opinion.' 
She  answered,  '  As  I  desire  no  other  happiness 
henceforth  in  the  world  than  that  of  my  daugh- 
ter, the  voyage  to  France  shall  be  left  entirely 
to  her  own  inclination.' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find  an. 


76  PAUL    AICD    TIRGINIA. 

opportunity  of  separating  Paul  and  Virginia  for 
a  short  time,  and  providing  by  this  means  for 
their  mutual  felicity  at  a  future  period.  She 
took  her  daughter  aside,  and  said  to  her,  '  My 
dear  child,  our  servants  are  now  old — Paul  is 
still  very  young  —  Margaret  is  advanced  in 
years,  and  I  am  already  infirm.  If  I  should  die, 
what  will  become  of  you,  without  fortune,  amid 
these  deserts  ?  you  will  then  be  left  alone,  with- 
out any  person  who  can  afford  you  much  succor, 
and  forced  to  labor  incessantly,  in  order  to  sup- 
port your  wretched  existence.  This  reflection 
fills  my  soul  with  sorrow/  Virginia  answered, 
c  God  has  appointed  us  to  labor — you  have 
taught  me  to  labor,  and  to  bless  him  every  day. 
He  never  has  forsaken  us,  he  never  will  for- 
sake us.  His  providence  peculiarly  watches 
over  the  unfortunate.  You  have  told  me  this 
so  often,  my  dear  mother  !  —  I  cannot  resolve 
to  leave  you.'  Madame  de  la  Tour  replied 
with  much  emotion,  '  I  have  no  other  aim  than 
to  render  you  happy,  and  to  marry  you  one  day 
to  Paul,  who  is  not  your  brother :  —  reflect  at 
present  that  his  fortune  depends  upon  you.' 

A  young  girl  who  loves,  believes  that  all  the 
world  is  ignorant  of  her  passion.  She  spreads 
over  her  eyes  the  veil  which  she  wears  over  her 
heart :  but  when  it  is  lifted  up  by  some  cher- 
ished hand,  the  secret  inquietudes  of  passion 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  77 

suddenly  burst  their  bounds,  and  the  soothing 
overflowings  of  confidence  succeed  that  reserve 
and  mystery,  with  which  the  oppressed  heart 
had  enveloped  its  feelings.  Virginia,  deeply 
affected  by  this  new  proof  of  her  mother's  ten- 
derness, related  to  her  how  cruel  had  been 
those  struggles,  which  Heaven  alone  had  wit- 
nessed ;  declared  that  she  saw  the  consolation 
of  Providence  in  that  of  an  affectionate  mother, 
who  approved  of  her  attachment,  and  would 
guide  her  by  her  counsels  ;  that  being  now 
strengthened  by  such  support,  every  considera- 
tion led  her  to  remain  with  her  mother,  without 
uneasiness  for  the  present,  and  without  anxiety 
for  the  future. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  that  this  con- 
fidential conversation  had  produced  an  effect  al- 
together different  from  that  which  she  expected, 
said,  '  My  dear  child,  I  will  not  any  more  con- 
strain your  inclination;  deliberate  at  leisure, 
but  conceal  your  feelings  from  Paul.' 

Towards  evening,  when  Madame  de  la  Tour 
and  Virginia  were  again  together,  their  confes- 
sor, who  was  a  missionary  in  the  island,  entered 
the  room,  having  been  sent  by  the  governor. 
f  My  children,'  he  exclaimed  as  he  entered, 
'God  be  praised!  you  are  now  rich.  You  can 
now  listen  to  the  kind  suggestions  of  your 
excellent  hearts,  and  do  good  to  the  poor. 


78  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

I  know  what  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  has 
said  to  you,  and  what  you  have  answered. 
Your  health,  dear  madam,  obliges  you  to  re- 
main here;  but  you,  young  lady,  are  without 
excuse.  We  must  obey  the  will  of  Providence, 
and  we  must  also  obey  our  aged  relations,  even 
when  they  are  unjust.  A  sacrifice  is  required 
of  you ;  but  it  is  the  order  of  God.  He  devo- 
ted himself  for  you,  and  you,  in  imitation  of  his 
example,  must  devote  yourself  for  the  welfare 
of  your  family.  Your  voyage  to  France  will 
have  a  happy  termination.  You  will  surely 
consent  to  go,  my  dear  young  lady?3 

Virginia,  with  downcast  eyes,  answered  trem- 
bling, '  If  it  be  the  command  of  God,  I  will  not 
presume  to  oppose  it.  Let  the  will  of  God  be 
done!'  said  she,  and  she  wept  grievously. 

The  missionary  went  away,  and  informed  the 
governor  of  the  success  of  his  mission.  In  the 
mean  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  sent  Domingo 
to  desire  I  would  come  hither,  that  she  might 
consult  me  upon  Virginia's  departure.  I  was 
of  opinion  that  she  ought  not  to  go.  I  consid- 
er it  as  a  fixed  principle  of  happiness,  that 
we  ought  to  prefer  the  advantages  of  nature 
those  of  fortune,  and  never  go  in  search  of  that 
at  a  distance,  which  we  may  find  within  our  own 
bosom.  But  what  could  be  expected  from  my 
moderate  counsels,  opposed  to  the  illusions  of 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  79 

a  splendid  fortune,  and  my  simple  reasoning, 
contradicted  by  the  prejudices  of  the  world,  and 
an  authority  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  held 
sacred?  This  lady  had  only  consulted  me  from 
a  sentiment  of  respect,  and  had  in  reality  ceased 
to  deliberate,  since  she  had  heard  the  decision 
of  her  confessor.  Margaret  herself,  who,  not- 
withstanding the  advantages  she  hoped  for  her 
son,  from  the  possession  of  Virginia's  fortune, 
had  hitherto  opposed  her  departure,  made  no 
farther  objections.  As  for  Paul,  ignorant  of 
what  was  decided,  and  alarmed  at  the  secret 
conversations  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  held 
with  her  daughter,  he  abandoned  himself  to 
deep  melancholy.  '  They  are  plotting  something 
against  my  peace,'  cried  he,  t  since  they  are  so 
careful  of  concealment.' 

A  report  having  in  the  mean  time  spread 
over  the  island,  that  fortune  had  visited  those 
rocks,  we  beheld  merchants  of  all  kinds  climbing 
their  steep  ascent,  and  displaying  in  those  hum- 
ble huts  the  richest  stuffs  of  India.  The  fine 
dimity  of  Gondelore  ;  the  handkerchiefs  of  Pel- 
licate  and  Mussulapatun ;  the  plain,  striped,  and 
embroidered  muslins  of  Decca,  clear  as  the  day. 
Those  merchants  unrolled  the  gorgeous  silks  of 
China,  white  satin-damasks,  others  of  grass- 
green  and  bright  red  ;  rose-colored  taffetas,  a 
profusion  of  satins,  pelongs,  and  gauze  of  Ton- 


80  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

quin,  some  plain,  and  some  beautifully  decora- 
ted with  flowers  ;  the  soft  pekins,  downy  like 
cloth  ;  white  and  yellow  nankeens,  and  the  cal- 
icoes of  Madagascar. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  wished  her  daughter  to 
purchase  every  thing  she  liked,  and  Virginia 
made  choice  of  whatever  she  believed  would  be 
agreeable  to  her  mother,  Margaret,  and  her 
son.  '  This,'  said  she,  {  will  serve  for  furniture, 
and  that  will  be  useful  to  Mary  and  Domingo.' 
In  short  the  bag  of  piasters  was  emptied 
before  she  had  considered  her  own  wants  ;  and 
she  was  obliged  to  receive  a  share  of  the  pres- 
ents which  she  had  distributed  to  the  family 
circle. 

Paul,  penetrated  with  sorrow  at  the  sight  of 
those  gifts  of  fortune,  which  he  felt  were  the 
presage  of  Virginia's  departure,  came  a  few 
days  after  to  my  dwelling.  With  an  air  of  des- 
pondency he  said  to  me,  '  My  sister  is  going  : 
they  are  already  making  preparations  for  her 
voyage.  I  conjure  you  to  come  and  exert  your 
influence  over  her  mother  and  mine,  in  order 
to  detain  her  here.'  I  could  not  refuse  the 
young  man's  solicitations,  although  well  convin- 
ced that  my  representations  would  be  unavailing. 

If  Virginia  had  appeared  to  me  charming, 
when  clad  in  the  blue  cloth  of  Bengal ;  with  a 
i;ed  handkerchief  tied  round  her  head,  how  much 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  81 

was  her  beauty  improved,  when  decorated  with 
the  graceful  ornaments  worn  by  the  ladies  of 
this  country  !  She  was  dressed  in  white  muslin 
lined  with  rose-colored  taffeta.  Her  small  and 
elegant  shape  was  displayed  to  advantage  by  her 
corset,  and  the  lavish  profusion  of  her  light  tresses 
were  carelessly  blended  with  her  simple  head- 
dress. Her  fine  blue  eyes  were  filled  with  an 
expression  of  melancholy  ;  and  the  struggles  of 
passion,  with  which  her  heart  was  agitated, 
flushed  her  cheek,  and  gave  her  voice  a  tone  of 
emotion.  The  contrast  between  her  pensive 
look  and  her  gay  habiliments,  rendered  her  more 
interesting  than  ever,  nor  was  it  possible  to  see 
or  hear  her  unmoved.  Paul  became  more  and 
more  melancholy  ;  and  at  length  Margaret,  dis- 
tressed by  the  situation  of  her  son,  took  him 
aside,  and  said  to  him,  '  Why,  my  dear  son, 
will  you  cherish  vain  hopes,  which  will  only 
render  your  disappointment  more  bitter  ?  It 
is  time  that  I  should  make  known  to  you  the 
secret  of  your  life  and  of  mine.  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Tour  belongs  by  her  mother  to  a  rich  and 
noble  family,  while  you  are  but  the  son  of  a 
poor  peasant-girl,  and,  what  is  worse,  you  are 
a  natural  child.' 

Paul,  who  had  never  before  heard  this  last 
expression,  inquired  with  eagerness  its  mean- 
ing.    His  mother  replied,    £  You  had  no  legiti- 
6 


82  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

mate  father.  When  I  was  a  girl,  seduced  by 
love,  I  was  guilty  of  a  weakness  of  which  you 
are  the  offspring.  My  fault  deprived  you  of 
the  protection  of  a  father's  family,  and  my  flight 
from  home  of  that  of  a  mother's  family.  Un- 
fortunate child  !  you  have  no  relation  in  the 
world  but  me  !'  And  she  shed  a  flood  of  tears. 
Paul,  pressing  her  in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  '  Oh, 
my  dear  mother  !  since  I  have  no  relation  in 
the  world  but  you,  I  will  love  you  still  more  ! 
But  what  a  secret  have  you  disclosed  to  me  !  I 
now  see  the  reason  why  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Tour  has  estranged  herself  from  me  these  two 
months  past,  and  why  she  has  determined  to 
go.  Ah  !  I  perceive  too  well  that  she  despises 
me  !' 

The  hour  of  supper  being  arrived,  we  placed 
ourselves  at  table  ;  but  the  different  sensations 
with  which  we  were  all  agitated  left  us  little  in- 
clination to  eat,  and  the  meal  passed  in  silence. 
Virginia  first  went  out,  and  seated  herself  on 
the  very  spot  where  we  are  now  placed.  Paul 
hastened  after  her,  and  seated  himself  by  her 
side.  It  was  one  of  thos'e  delicious  nights, 
which  are  so  common  between  the  tropics,  and 
the  beauty  of  which  no  pencil  can  trace.  The 
moon  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  firmament, 
curtained  in  clouds,  which  her  beams  gradually 
dispelled.  Her  light  insensibly  spread  itself 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  83 

over  the  mountains  of  the  island,  and  their  peaks 
glistened  with  a  silvered  green.  The  winds 
were  perfectly  still :  we  heard  along  the  woods, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  rocks,  the  weak  cry,  and  the  soft 
murmurs  of  the  birds,  exulting  in  the  brightness 
of  the  night,  and  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere. 
The  hum  of  insects  was  heard  in  the  grass  ;  the 
stars  sparkled  in  the  heavens,  and  their  trem- 
bling and  lucid  images  were  reflected  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  ocean.  Virginia's  eyes  wandered 
over  its  vast  and  gloomy  horizon,  distinguishable 
from  the  bay  of  the  island  by  the  red  fires  in  the 
fishing  boats.  She  perceived  at  the  entrance 
of  the  harbor  a  light  and  a  shadow  :  these  were 
the  watch-light  and  the  body  of  the  vessel  in 
which  she  was  to  embark  for  Europe,  and 
which,  ready  to  set  sail,  lay  at  anchor,  waiting 
for  the  wind.  Affected  at  the  sight,  she  turned 
away  her  head,  in  order  to  hide  her  tears  from 
Paul. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  and  myself, 
were  seated  at  a  distance  beneath  the  plantain- 
trees,  and  amid  the  stillness  of  the  night  we 
distinctly  heard  their  conversation,  which  I  can 
never  forget. 

Paul  said  to  her,  c  You  are  going,  they  tell 
me,  in  three  days.  You  do  not  fear  then  to 
encounter  the  dangers  of  the  sea,  at  which  you 


84  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

are  so  much  terrified?'  <  I  must  fulfil  my  duty,' 
answered  Virginia,  'by  obeying  my  parents.' 
1  You  leave  us,'  resumed  Paul,  '  for  a  distant 
relation  whom  you  have  never  seen.'  '  Alas!' 
cried  Virginia,  *  I  would  have  remained  my 
whole  life  here,  but  my  mother  would  not  have 
it  so:  my  confessor  has  told  me  that  it  is  the 
will  of  God  that  I  should  go,  and  that  life  is  a 
trial!' 

'  What!'  exclaimed  Paul,'  '  you  have  found 
so  many  reasons  then  for  going,  and  not  one 
for  remaining  here!  Ah!  there  is  one  reason 
for  your  departure  which  you  have  not  men- 
tioned. Riches  have  great  attractions.  You 
will  soon  find  in  the  new  world,  to  which  you 
are  going,  another,  to  whom  you  will  give  the 
name  of  brother,  which  you  will  bestow  on  me 
no  more.  You  will  choose  that  brother  from 
among  persons  who  are  worthy  of  you  by  their 
birth,  and  by  a  fortune  which  I  have  not  to  offer. 
But  where  will  you  go  in  order  to  be  happier  ? 
On  what  shore  will  you  land  which  will  be  dearer 
to  you  than  the  spot  which  gave  you  birth? 
Where  will  you  find  a  society  more  interesting 
to  you  than  this  by  which  you  are  so  beloved? 
How  will  you  bear  to  live  without  your  mother's 
caresses,  to  which  you  are  so  accustomed? 
What  will  become  of  her,  already  advanced  in 
years,  when  she  will  no  longer  see  you  at  her 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  85 

side  at  table,  in  the  house,  in  the  walks  where 
she  used  to  lean  upon  you  ?  What  will  become 
of  my  mother,  who  loves  you  with  the  same 
affection?  What  shall  I  say  to  comfort  them 
when  I  see  them  weeping  for  your  absence  ? 
Cruel  girl!  I  speak  not  to  you  of  myself,  but 
what  will  become  of  me  when  in  the  morning  I 
shall  no  more  see  you,  when  the  evening  will 
come  and  will  not  re-unite  us  !  when  I  shall 
gaze  on  the  two  palm-trees,  planted  at  our 
birth,  and  so  long  the  witnesses  of  our  vmutual 
friendship  ?  Ah  !  since  a  new  destiny  attracts 
you,  since  you  seek  in  a  country,  distant  from 
your  own,  other  possessions  than  those  which 
were  the  fruits  of  my  labor,  let  me  accompany 
you  in  the  vessel  in  which  you  are  going  to  env 
bark.  I  will  animate  your  courage  in  the  midst 
of  those  tempests  at  which  you  are  so  terrified 
even  on  shore.  I  will  lay  your  head  on  my 
bosom.  I  will  warm  your  heart  up'on  my  own ; 
and  in  France,  where  you  go  in  search  of  for- 
tune and  grandeur,  I  will  attend  you  as  your 
slave.  Happy  only  in  your  happiness,  you 
will  find  me  in  those  palaces  where  I  shall  see 
you  cherished  and  adored,  at  least  sufficiently 
noble  to  make  for  you  the  greatest  of  all  sacri- 
fices by  dying  at  your  feet.' 

The  violence  o,f  his  emotion  stifled  his  voice, 
and  we  then  heard  that  of  Virginia,  which,  bro- 


86  PAUL    AND   VIRGINIA. 

ken  by  sobs,  uttered  these  words:  '  It  is  for 
you  I  go:  for  you,  whom  I  see  every  day  bent 
beneath  the  labor  of  sustaining  two  infirm  fam- 
ilies. If  I  have  .accepted  this  opportunity  of 
becoming  rich,  it  is  only  to  return  you  a  thou- 
sand fold  the  good  which  you  have  done  us.  Is 
there  any  fortune  worthy  of  your  friendship  ? 
Why  do  you  talk  to  me  of  your  birth?  Ah!  if  it 
was  again  possible  to  give  me  a  brother,  should 
I  make  choice  of  any  other  than  you  ?  Oh,  Paul! 
Paul!  you  are  far  dearer  to  me  than  a  brother! 
How  much  has  it  cost  me  to  avoid  you !  Help 
me  to  tear  myself  from  what  I  value  more  than 
existence,  till  Heaven  can  bless  our  union. 
But  I  will  stay  or  go,  I  will  live  or  die,  dispose 
of  me  as  you  will.  Unhappy,  that  I  am!  I 
could  resist  your  caresses,  but  I  am  unable  to 
support  your  affliction.' 

At  those  words  Paul  seized  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  holding  her  pressed  fast  to  his  bosom,  cried 
in  a  piercing  tone,  '  I  will  go  with  her,  nothing 
shall  divide  us.'  We  ran  towards  him,  and 
Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to  him  '  My  son,  if 
you  go  what  will  become  of  us?' 

He  trembling  repeated  the  words,  {  My  son 
—  my  son  —  you  my  mother,'  cried  he;  'you, 
who  would  separate  the  brother  from  the  sister! 
We  have  both  been  nourished  at  your  bosom: 
we  have  both  been  reared  upon  your  knees: 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  87 

we  have  learned  of  you  to  love  each  other;  we 
have  said  so  a  thousand  times;  and  now  you 
would  separate  her  from  me!  You  send  her  to 
Europe,  that  barbarous  country  which  refused 
you  an  asylum,  and  to  relations  by  whom  you 
were  abandoned.  You  will  tell  me  that  I  have 
no  rights  over  her,  and  she  is  not  my  sister. 
She  is  every  thing  to  me,  riches,  birth,  family, 
my  sole  good!  I  know  no  other.  We  have  had 
but  one  roof,  one  cradle,  and  we  will  have  but 
one  grave.  If  she  goes  I  will  follow  her.  The 
governor  will  prevent  me  ?  Will  he  prevent  me 
from  flinging  myself  into  the  sea?  Will  he  pre- 
vent me  from  following  her  by  swimming?  The 
sea  cannot  be  more  fatal  to  me  than  the  land. 
Since  I  cannot  live  with  her,  at  least  I  will  die 
before  her  eyes;  far  from  you,  inhuman  mother! 
woman  without  compassion!  May  the  ocean  to 
which  you  trust  her  restore  her  to  you  no  more ! 
may  the  waves,  rolling  back  our  bodies  amid 
the  stones  of  the  beach,  give  yoti,  in  the  loss  of 
your  two  children,  an  eternal  subject  of  re- 
morse!' 

At  these  words  I  seized  him  in  my  arms,  for 
despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason.  His  eyes 
flashed  fire,  big  drops  of  sweat  hung  upon  his 
face,  his  knees  trembled,  and  I  felt  his  heart 
beat  violently  against  his  burning  bosom. 

Virginia,   affrighted,  said  to  him,  '  Oh,  my 


8  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

friend!  I  call  to  witness  the  pleasures  of  our 
early  age,  your  sorrow  and  my  own,  and  every 
thing  that  can  for  ever  bind  two  unfortunate  be- 
ings to  each  other,  that  if  I  remain,  I  will  live 
but  for  you,  that  if  I  go,  I  will  one  day  return 
to  be  yours.  I  call  you  all  to  witness,  you  who 
have  reared  my  infancy,  who  dispose  of  my 
life,  who  see  my  tears.  I  swear  by  Heaven 
which  hears  me,  by  the  sea  which  I  am  going 
to  pass,  by  the  air  I  breathe,  and  which  I  never 
sullied  by  a  falsehood.' 

As  the  sun  softens  and  disolves  an  icy  rock 
upon  the  summit  of  the  Appenines,  so  the  im- 
petuous passions  of  the  young  man  were  sub- 
dued by  the  voice  of  her  he  loved.  He  bent 
his  head,  and  a  flood  of  tears  fell  from  his  eyes. 
His  mother,  mingling  her  tears  with  his,  held 
him  in  her  arms,  but  was  unable  to  speak. 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  half  distracted,  said  to 
me,  c  I  can  bear  this  no  longer.  My  heart  is 
broken.  This  unfortunate  voyage  shall  not 
take  place.  Do  take  my  son  home  with  you. 
It  is  eight  days  since  any  one  of  us  has  slept.' 

I  said  to  Paul,  '  My  dear  friend,  your  sister 
will  remain.  To-morrow  we  will  speak  to  the 
governor;  leave  your  family  to  take  some  rest, 
and  come  and  pass  the  night  with  me.' 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in  silence ; 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  89 

and  after  a  night  of  great  agitation,  he  arose  at 
break  of  day  and  returned  home. 

But  why  should  I  continue  any  longer  the 
recital  of  this  history?  There  is  never  but  one 
aspect  in  human  life  which  we  can  contemplate 
with  pleasure.  Like  the  globe  upon  which  we 
revolve,  our  fleeting  course  is  but  a  day,  and 
one  part  of  the  day  cannot  be  visited  by  light, 
if  the  other  is  not  thrown  into  darkness. 

c  Father,'  I  answered,  '  finish,  I  conjure  you, 
the  history  which  you  have  begun  in  a  manner 
so  interesting.  If  the  images  of  happiness  are 
most  pleasing,  those  of  misfortune  are  most  in- 
structive. Tell  me  what  became  of  the  unhap* 
py  young  man.' 

The  first  object  which  Paul  beheld  in  his  way 
home,  was  Mary,  who,  mounted  upon  a  rock, 
was  earnestly  looking  toward  the  sea.  As 
soon  as  he  perceived  her,  he  called  to  her  from 
a  distance,  e  Where  is  Virginia?'  Mary  turned 
her  head  toward  her  young  master,  and  began 
to  weep.  Paul,  distracted,  and  treading  back 
his  steps,  ran  to  the  harbor.  He  was  there  in- 
formed, that  Virginia  had  embarked  at  break  of 
day,  that  the  vessel  had  immediately  after  set 
sail,  and  could  no  longer  be  discerned.  He  in- 
stantly returned  to  the  plantation,  which  he 
crossed  without  uttering  a  word. 

Although  the  pile  of  rocks  behind  us  appears, 


90  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

almost  perpendicular,  those  green  platforms 
which  separate  their  summits  are  so  many  sta- 
ges, by  means  of  which  you  may  reach,  through 
some  difficult  paths,  that  cone  of  inaccessible 
rocks,  called  the  Thumb.  At  the  foot  of  that 
cone  is  a  stretching  slope  of  ground,  covered 
with  lofty  trees,  and  which  is  so  high  and  steep, 
that  it  appears  like  a  forest  in  air,  surrounded 
by  tremendous  precipices.  The  clouds,  which 
are  attracted  round  the  summit  of  those  rocks, 
supply  innumerable  rivulets,  which  rush  from 
so  immense  a  height  into  that  deep  valley  situ- 
ated behind  the  mountain,  that  from  this  eleva- 
ted point  we  do  riot  hear  the  sound  of  the  fall. 
On  that  spot  you  can  discern  a  considerable 
part  of  the  island  with  its  precipices  crowned 
with  majestic  peaks;  and,  among  others  Piter- 
both,  and  the  Three-Peaks,  with  their  valley 
filled  with  woods;  you  also  command  an  exten- 
sive view  of  the  ocean,  and  even  perceive  the 
Isle  of  Bourbon  forty  degrees  towards  the  west. 
From  the  summit  of  that  stupendous  pile  of 
rocks,  Paul  gazed  upon  the  vessel  which  had 
borne  away  Virginia,  and  which  now,  ten 
leagues  out  at  sea,  appeared  like  a  black  spot 
in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  He  remained  a 
great  part  of  the  day  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
this  object.  When  it  had  disappeared,  he  still 
fancied  he  beheld  it;  and  when,  at  length,  the 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  91 

traces  which  clung  to  his  imagination  were  lost 
amid  the  gathering  mist  of  the  horizon,  he  seat- 
ed himself  on  the  wild  point,  for  ever  beaten  by 
the  winds  which  never  cease  to  agitate  the  tops 
of  the  cabbage  and  gum-trees,  and  the  hoarse 
and  moaning  murmurs  of  which,  similar  to  the 
distant  sounds  of  organs,  inspire  a  deep  melan- 
choly. On  that  spot  I  found  Paul,  with  his 
head  Feclined  upon  a  rock,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ground.  I  had  followed  him  since  break  of 
day,  and,  after  much  importunity,  I  prevailed 
with  him  to  descend  from  the  heights  and  return 
to  his  family.  I  conducted  him  to  the  planta- 
tion, where  the  first  impulse  of  his  mind,  upon 
seeing  Madame  de  la  Tour,  was  to  reproach 
her  bitterly  for  having  deceived  him.  —  Madame 
de  la  Tour  told  us,  that  a  favorable  wind  having 
arose  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the 
vessel  being  ready  to  set  sail,  the  governor,  at- 
tended by  his  general  officers  and  the  missiona- 
ry, had  come  with  a  palanquin  in  search  of  Vir- 
ginia; and  that,  notwithstanding  her  objections, 
her  tears,  and  those  of  Margaret,  all  the  while  ex- 
claiming that  it  was  for  the  general  welfare,  they 
had  carried  away  Virginia,  almost  dying.  '  At 
least,'  cried  Paul,  '  if  I  had  bid  her  farewell,  I 
should  now  be  more  calm.  I  would  have  said 
to  her,  '  Virginia,  if,  during  the  time  we  have 
lived  together,  one  word  may  have  offended  you. 


92  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

before  you  leave  me  for  ever,  tell  me  that  you 
forgive  me.'  I  would  have  said  to  her,  '  Since 
I  am  destined  to  see  you  no  more,  farewell,  my 
dear  Virginia,  farewell!  live  far  from  me  con- 
tented and  happy!' 

When  he  saw  that  his  mother  and  Madame 
de  la  Tour  were  weeping,  '  You  must  now,' 
said  he,  *  seek  some  other  than  me  to  wipe  away 
your  tears  !'  and  then,  rushing  out  of  the  house, 
he  wandered  up  and  down  the  plantation.  He 
flew  eagerly  to  those  spots  which  had  been  most 
dear  to  Virginia.  He  said  to  the  goats  and 
their  kids,  who  followed  him  bleating,  l  What 
do  you  ask  of  me  ?  you  will  see  her  no  more 
who  used  to  feed  you  with  her  own  hand.5  He 
went  to  the  bower  called  the  Repose  of  Vir- 
ginia ;  and,  as  the  birds  flew  around  him,  ex- 
claimed, '  Poor  little  birds  !  you  will  fly  no  more 
to  meet  her  who  cherished  you  !'  and,  observ- 
ing Fidele  running  backwards  and  forwards  in 
search  of  her,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  cried, 
'  Ah  !  you  will  never  find  her  again.'  At  length 
he  went  and  seated  himself  upon  the  rock  where 
he  had  conversed  with  her  the  preceding  even- 
ing, and  at  the  view  of  the  ocean,  upon  which 
he  had  seen  the  vessel  disappear,  which  bore 
her  away,  he  wept  bitterly. 

We  continually  watched  his  steps,  appre- 
hending some  fatal  consequence  from  the  vio- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  93 

lent  agitation  of  his  mind.  His  mother  and 
Madame  de  la  Tour  conjured  him  in  the  most 
tender  manner  not  to  increase  their  affliction  by 
his  despair.  At  length,  Madame  de  la  Tour 
soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing  upon  him  such 
epithets  as  were  best  calculated  to  revive  his 
hopes.  She  called  him  her  son,  her  dear  son, 
whom  she  destined  for  her  daughter.  She  pre- 
vailed with  him  to  return  to  the  house  and  re- 
ceive a  little  nourishment.  He  seated  himself 
with  her  at  table,  next  to  the  place  which  used 
to  be  occupied  by  the  companion  of  his  child- 
hood, and,  as  if  she  had  still  been  present,  he 
spoke  to  her,  and  offered  whatever  he  knew 
was  most  agreeable  to  her  taste,  and  then, 
starting  from  this  dream  of  fancy,  he  began  to 
weep.  For  some  days  he  employed  himself  in 
gathering  together  every  thing  which  had  be- 
longed to  Virginia  ;  the  last  nosegays  she  had 
worn,  the  cocoa-shell  from  which  she  used  to 
drink,  and  after  kissing  a  thousand  times  those 
relics  of  his  friend,  to  him  the  most  precious 
treasures  which  the  world  contained,  he  hid 
them  in  his  bosom.  The  spreading  perfumes  of 
the  amber  are  not  so  sweet  as  the  objects  which 
have  belonged  to  those  we  love.  At  length, 
perceiving  that  his  anguish  increased  that  of  his 
mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  that  the 
wants  of  the  family  required  continual  labor  ; 


94  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

he  began,  with  the  assistance  of  Domingo,  to 
repair  the  garden. 

Soon  after,  this  young  man,  till  now  indiffer- 
ent as  a  Creole  with  respect  to  what  was  pas- 
sing in  the  world,  desired  I  would  teach  him  to 
read  and  write,  that  he  might  carry  on  a  cor- 
respondence with  Virginia.  He  then  wished 
to  be  instructed  in  geography,  in  order  that  he 
might  form  a  just  idea  of  the  country  where  she 
had  disembarked  ;  and  in  history,  that  he  might 
know  the  manners  of  the  society  in  which  she 
was  placed.  The  powerful  sentiment  of  love, 
which  directed  his  present  studies,  had  already 
taught  him  the  arts  of  agriculture,  and  the  man- 
ner of  laying  out  the  most  irregular  grounds 
with  advantage  and  beauty.  It  must  be  admit- 
ted, that  to  the  fond  dreams  of  this  resistless 
and  ardent  passion,  mankind  are  indebted  for  a 
great  number  of  arts  and  sciences,  while  its  dis- 
appointments have  given  birth  to  philosophy, 
which  teaches  us  to  bear  the  evils  of  life  with 
resignation.  Thus,  nature  having  made  love 
the  general  link  which  binds  all  beings,  has 
rendered  it  the  first  spring  of  society,  the  first 
incitement  to  knowledge  as  well  as  pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study  of 
geography,  which  instead  of  describing  the  na- 
tural history  of  each  country,  only  gave  a  view 
of  its  political  boundaries.  History,  and  espe- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  95 

cially  modern  history,  interested  him  little  more. 
He  there  saw  only  general  and  periodical  evils, 
of  which  he  did  not  discern  the  cause  ;  wars  for 
which  there  was  no  reason,  and  no  object  ;  na- 
tions without  principle,  and  princes  without  hu- 
manity. He  preferred  the  reading  of  roman- 
ces, which  being  filled  with  the  particular  feel- 
ings and  interests  of  men,  represented  situations 
similar  to  his  own.  No  book  gave  him  so  much 
pleasure  as  Telemachus,  from  the  pictures 
it  draws  of  pastoral  life,  and  of  those  passions 
which  are  natural  to  the  human  heart.  He  read 
aloud  to  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 
those  parts  which  affected  him  most  sensibly, 
when,  sometimes  touched  by  the  most  tender 
remembrances,  his  emotion  checked  his  utter- 
ance, and  his  eyes  were  bathed  in  tears.  He 
fancied  he  had  found  in  Virginia  the  wisdom  of 
Antiope,  with  the  misfortunes  and  tenderness  of 
Eucharis.  With  very  different  sensations  he 
perused  our  fashionable  novels,  filled  with  licen- 
tious maxims  and  manners.  And  when  he  was 
informed  that  those  romances  drew  a  just  pic- 
ture of  European  society,  he  trembled,  not  with- 
out reason,  lest  Virginia  should  become  corrupt- 
ed and  should  forget  him. 

More  than  a  year  and  a  half  had  indeed  pas- 
sed away,  before  Madame  de  la  Tour  received 
any  tidings  of  her  daughter.  During  that  peri- 


96  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

od  she  had  only  accidentally  heard  that  Vir- 
ginia had  arrived  safely  in  France.  At  length, 
a  vessel,  which  stopped  in  its  way  to  the  Indies, 
conveyed  to  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  packet  and 
a  letter  written  with  her  own  hand.  Although 
this  amiable  young  woman  had  written  in  a 
guarded  manner,  in  order  to  avoid  wounding 
the  feelings  of  her  mother,  it  was  easy  to  dis- 
cern that  she  was  unhappy.  Her  letter  pic- 
tures so  naturally  her  situation  and  her  char- 
acter, that  I  have  retained  it  almost  word  for 
word. 

My  dear  and  much  beloved  Mother, 

I  have  already  sent  you  several  letters  writ- 
ten with  my  own  hand,  but,  having  received  no 
answer,  I  fear  they  have  not  reached  you  ;  I 
have  better  hopes  for  this,  from  the  means  I 
have  now  taken  of  sending  you  tidings  of  my- 
self, and  of  hearing  from  you.  I  have  shed 
many  tears  since  our  separation,  I,  who  never 
used  to  weep,  but  for  the  misfortunes  of  others! 
My  aunt  was  much  astonished  when,  having 
upon  my  arrival,  inquired  what  accomplishments 
I  possessed,  I  told  her  that  I  could  neither  read 
nor  write.  She  asked  me  what  I  had  learned  since 
I  entered  into  the  world;  and,  when  I  answered 
her  that  I  had  been  taught  to  take  care  of  the 

o 

household  affairs,  and  obey  your  will,  she  told 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  97 

me,  that  I  had  received  the  education  of  a  ser- 
vant. The  next  day  she  placed  me  as  a  board- 
er in  a  great  abbey  near  Paris,  where  I  have 
masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach  me,  among  other 
things,  history,  geography,  grammar,  mathe- 
matics, and  riding.  But  I  have  so  little  capa- 
city for  all  those  sciences,  that  I  make  but  small 
progress  with  my  masters. 

'  My  aunt's  kindness,  however,  does  not  di- 
minish. She  gives  me  new  dresses  for  each 
season,  and  she  has  placed  two  waiting-women 
with  me,  who  are  both  dressed  like  fine  ladies. 
She  has  made  me  take  the  title  of  countess,  but 
has  obliged  me  to  renounce  the  name  of  La 
Tour,  which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  you, 
from  all  you  have  told  me  of  the  sufferings  my 
father  endured  in  order  to  marry  you.  She  has 
replaced  your  name  by  that  of  your  family, 
which  is  also  dear  to  me,  because  it  was  your 
name  when  a  girl.  Seeing  myself  in  so  splen- 
did a  situation,  I  implored  her  to  let  me  send 
you  some  assistance.  Brit  how  shall  I  repeat 
her  answer?  Yet  you  have  dasirecS  ma  always 
to  tell  you  the  truth.  She  told  me  then,  that  a 
little  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  and  that  a  great 
deal  would  only  encumber  you  in  the  simple  life 
you  led. 

*  I  endeavored,  upon  my  arrival,  to  send  you 

tidings  of  myself  by  another  hand;  but,  finding 

7 


98  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

no  person  here  in  whom  I  could  place  confi- 
dence, I  applied  night  and  day  to  reading  and 
writing;  and  heaven,  who  saw  my  motive  for 
learning,  no  doubt  assisted  my  endeavors;  for  I 
acquired  both  in  a  short  time.  I  entrusted  my 
first  letters  to  some  of  the  ladies  here,  who  I 
have  reason  to  think  carried  them  to  my  aunt. 
This  time  I  have  had  recourse  to  a  boardery 
who  is  my  friend.  I  send  you  her  direction,  by 
means  of  which  I  shall  receive  your  answer. 
My  aunt  has  forbid  my  holding  any  correspon- 
dence whatever,  which  might,  she  says,  become 
an  object  to  the  great  views  she  has  for  my  ad- 
vantage. No  person  is  allowed  to  see  me  at 
the  grate  but  herself,  and  an  old  nobleman,  one 
of  her  friends,  who,  she  says,  is  much  pleased 
with  me.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  at  all  so  with 
him,  nor  should  I,  even  if  it  were  possible  to  be 
pleased  with  any  one  at  present. 

*  I  live  in  the  midst  of  affluence,  and  have  not 
a  livre  at  my  disposal.  They  say  I  might  make 
an  improper  use  of  money.  Even  my  clothes 
belong  to  my  waiting-women,  who  quarrel  about 
them  before  I  have  left  them  off.  In  the  bo- 
som of  riches  I  am  poorer  than  when  I  lived 
with  you;  for  I  have  nothing  to  give.  When  I 
found  that  the  great  accomplishments  they 
taught  me  would  not  procure  me  the  power  of 
doing  the  smallest  good,  I  had  recourse  to  my 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  99 

needle,  of  which  happily  you  had  learned  me  the 
use.  I  send  several  pair  of  stockings  of  my 
own  making  for  you  and  my  marnma  Marga- 
ret, a  cap  for  Domingo,  and  one  of  my  red 
handkerchiefs  for  Mary.  I  also  send  with  this 
packet  some  kernels,  and  seeds  of  various  kinds 
of  fruit,  which  I  gathered  in  the  fields.  There 
are  much  more  beautiful  meadows  in  this  coun- 
try than  in  ours,  but  nobody  cares  for  them.  I 
am  sure  that  you  and  my  mamma,  Margaret, 
will  be  better  pleased  with  this  bag  of  seeds, 
than  you  were  with  the  bag  of  piasters,  which 
was  the  cause  of  our  separation,  and  of  my  many 
tears.  It  will  give  me  great  delight  if  you 
should  one  day  see  apple-trees  growing  at  the 
side  of  the  plantain,  and  elms  blending  their 
foliage  with  our  cocoa-trees.  You  will  fancy 
yourself  in  Normandy,  which  you  love  so  much. 
c  You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys 
and  my  griefs.  I  have  no  joys  far  from  you. 
As  for  my  griefs,  I  endeavor  to  sooth  them  hy 
reflecting  that  I  am  in  the  situation  in  which 
you  placed  me  by  the  will  of  God.  But  my 
greatest  aflliction  is  that  no  one  here  speaks  to 
me  of  you,  and  that  I  must  speak  of  you  to  no 
one.  My  waiting  women,  or  rather  those  of  my 
aunt,  for  they  belong  more  to  her  than  to  me, 
told  me  the  other  day,  when  I  wished  to  turn 
the  conversation  upon  the  objects  most  dear  to 


100  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

me,  c  Remember,  madam,  that  you  are  a  French 
woman,  and  must  forget  that  country  of  sava- 
ges.' Ah  !  sooner  would  I  forget  myself,  than 
forget  the  spot  on  which  I  was  born,  and  which 
you  inhabit!  It  is  this  country  which  is  to  me  a 
land  of  savages,  for  I  live  alone,  having  no  one 
to  whom  I  may  impart  those  feelings  of  tender- 
ness for  you,  which  I  shall  bear  with  me  to  the 
grave.  I  am, 

My  dearest  and  beloved  mother, 
Your  affectionate  and 

dutiful  daughter, 
VIRGINIA  DE  LA  TOUR. 

'  I  recommend  to  your  goodness  Mary  and 
Domingo,  who  took  so  much  care  of  my  infan- 
cy. Caress  Fidele  for  me,  who  found  me  in 
the  wood.' 

Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  had  not 
said  one  word  of  him.  She,  who  had  not  forgot- 
ten even  the  house-dog.  But  Paul  was  not 
aware  that,  however  long  may  be  a  woman's 
letter,  she  always  puts  the  sentiments  most  dear 
to  her  at  the  end. 

In  a  postscript,  Virginia  recommended  par- 
ticularly to  Paul's  care  two  kinds  of  grains; 
those  of  the  violet  and  scabious;  she  gave  him 
some  instructions  upon  the  nature  of  those 
plants,  and  the  spots  most  proper  for  their  culti- 


PAUL    ANil    VIRGINIA  Ityl" 

vation.  '  The  first,'  said  she,  '  produces  a  little 
flower  of  a  deep  violet,  which  loves  to  hide  it- 
self beneath  the  bushes,  but  it  is  soon  discover- 
ed by  its  delightful  perfume.'  She  desired 
those  seeds  might  be  sown  along  the  borders  of 
the  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  her  cocoa-tree. 
*  The  scabious,5  she  added,  '  produces  a  beauti- 
ful flower  of  a  pale  blue,  and  a  black  ground 
spotted  with  white.  You  might  fancy  it  was  in 
mourning;  and  for  this  reason  it  is  called  the 
widow's  flower.  It  delights  in  bleak  spots  beat- 
en by  the  winds.'  She  begged  this  might  be 
sown  upon  the  rock,  where  she  had  spoken  to 
him  for  the  last  time,  and  that  for  her  sake  he 
would  henceforth  give  it  the  name  of  the  Fare- 
well Rock. 

She  had  put  these  seeds  into  a  little  purse, 
the  tissue  of  which  was  extremely  simple;  but 
which  appeared  above  all  price  to  Paul,  when 
he  perceived  a  P.  and  a  V.  interwoven  togeth- 
er, and  knew  that  the  beautiful  hair  of  which  it 
was  formed  was  that  of  Virginia. 

The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to  the 
letter  of  that  amiable  and  virtuous  young  wo- 
man. Her  mother  answered  it  in  the  name  of 
the  little  society,  and  desired  her  to  remain  or 
return  as  she  thought  proper;  assuring  her  that 
happiness  had  fled  from  their  dwelling  since  her 
departure,  and  that  as  for  herself  she  was  in- 


-  PAUL  AND'  VIRGINIA. 

consolable.  Paul  also  wrote  for  her  a  long  let- 
ter, in  which  he  assured  her  he  would  arrange 
the  garden  in  a  manner  agreeable  to  her  taste, 
and  blend  the  plants  of  Europe  with  those  of 
Africa.  He  sent  her  some  fruit  culled  from  the 
cocoa-trees  of  the  fountain,  which  were  now  ar- 
rived at  maturity:  telling  her  that  he  would  not 
send  any  more  of  the  other  seeds  of  the  island, 
that  the  desire  of  seeing  those  productions  again 
might  hasten  her  return.  He  conjured  her  to 
comply  without  delay  with  the  ardent  wishes 
of  her  family,  and,  above  all,  with  his  own, 
since  he  was  unable  to  endure  the  pain  of  their 
separation. 

With  a  careful  hand  Paul  sewed  the  Europe- 
an seeds,  particularly  the  violet  and  the  scabi- 
ous, the  flowers  of  which  seemed  to  bear  some 
analogy  to  the  character  and  situation  of  Vir- 
ginia, by  whom  they  had  been  recommended; 
but  whether  they  were  injured  by  the  voyage, 
or  whether  the  soil  of  that  part  of  Africa  was 
unfavorable  to  their  growth,  a  very  small  num- 
ber of  them  sprouted  and  none  came  to  per- 
fection. 

Meanwhile  that  envy,  which  pursues  human 
happiness,  spread  reports  over  the  island  which 
gave  great  uneasiness  to  Paul.  The  persons 
who  had  brought  Virginia's  letter,  asserted  that 
she  was  upon  the  point  of  being  married,  and 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  103 

named  the  nobleman  of  the  court  with  whom 
she  was  about  to  be  united.  Some  even  declar- 
ed that  she  was  already  married,  of  which  they 
were  witnesses.  Paul  at  first  despised  these 
reports,  brought  by  one  of  those  trading  ships 
which  often  spread  erroneous  intelligence  in 
their  passage;  but  some  illnatured  persons,  by 
their  insulting  pity,  led  him  to  give  some  degree 
of  credit  to  this  cruel  intelligence.  Besides,  he 
had  seen  in  the  novels  which  he'had  lately  read, 
that  perfidy  was  treated  as  a  subject  of  pleas- 
antry, and  that  knowing  that  those  books  were 
faithful  representions  of  European  manners,  he 
feared  that  the  heart  of  Virginia  was  corrupted, 
and  had  forgotten  its  former  engagements. 
Thus  his  acquirements  only  served  to  render 
him  miserable;  the  arrival  of  several  ships 
from  Europe,  during  the  space  of  six  months, 
without  bearing  any  tidings  of  Virginia,  tended 
to  strengthen  his  apprehensions. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a  heart 
torn  by  the  most  cruel  agitation,  came  often  to 
visit  me,  that  I  might  confirm  or  banish  his  in- 
quietude, by  my  experience  of  the  world. 

I  live,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  a  league 
and  a  half  hence,  upon  the  banks  of  a  little  river 
which  glides  along  the  sloping  mountain ;  there  I 
lead  a  solitary  life,  without  wife,  children  or  slaves. 

After  having  enjoyed,  and  lost  the  rare  feli- 


104  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

city  of  living  with  a  congenial  mind,  the  state 
of  life  which  appears  the  least  wretched  is  that 
of  solitude.  It  is  remarkable  that  all  those  na- 
tions, which  have  been  rendered  unhappy  by 
their  political  opinions,  their  mariners,  or  their 
forms  of  government,  have  produced  more  clas- 
ses of  citizens  strictly  devoted  to  solitude  and 
celibacy.  Such  were  the  Egyptians  in  their 
decline,  the  Greeks  of  the  lower  empire;  and 
such,  in  our  days,  are  the  Indians,  the  Chinese, 
the  modern  Greeks,  the  Italians,  and  most  part 
of  the  eastern  and  southern  nations  of  Europe. 

Thus  I  pass  my  days  far  from  mankind,  whom 
I  wished  to  serve,  and  by  whom  I  have  been 
persecuted.  After  having  travelled  over  many 
countries  of  Europe  and  some  parts  of  America 
and  Africa,  I  at  length  pitched  my  tents  in  this 
thinly  peopled  island,  allured  by  its  mild  tempe- 
rature and  its  solitude.  A  cottage  which  I 
built  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a  little 
field  which  I  cultivated  with  my  own  hands,  a 
river  which  glides  before  my  door,  suffice  for 
my  wants  and  for  my  pleasures:  I  blend  with 
those  enjoyments  that  of  some  chosen  books, 
which  teach  me  to  become  better.  They  make 
that  world,  which  I  have  abandoned,  still  con- 
tribute to  my  satisfaction.  They  place  before 
me  pictures  of  those  passions  which  render  its 
inhabitants  so  miserable;  and  the  comparison 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  105 

which  I  make  between  their  destiny  and  my 
own,  leads  me  to  feel  a  sort  of  negative  happi- 
ness. Like  a  man  whom  shipwreck  has  thrown 
upon  a  rock,  I  contemplate,  from  my  solitude, 
the  storms  which  roll  over  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  my  repose  seems  more  profound  from  the  dis- 
tant sounds  of  the  tempest. 

I  suffer  myself  to  be  led  calmly  down  the 
stream  of  time  to  the  ocean  of  futurity,  which 
has  no  boundaries;  while,  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  present  harmony  of  nature,  I  raise  my 
soul  towards  its  supreme  author,  and  hope  for 
a  more  happy  destiny  in  another  state  of  ex- 
istence. 

Although  you  do  not  descry  from  my  hermit- 
age, which  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  forest, 
that  immense  variety  of  objects  which  this  ele*- 
vated  spot  presents,  the  grounds  are  disposed 
with  particular  beauty,  at  least  to  one  who,  like 
me,  loves  rather  the  seclusion  of  a  home-scene, 
than  great  and  extensive  prospects.  The  river 
which  glides  before  my  door  passes  in  a  straight 
line  across  the  woods,  and  appears  like  a  long 
canal  shaded  by  trees  of  all  kinds.  There  are 
black,  date  plum-trees,  which  we  here  call  the 
narrow-leaved  dodonea,  olive-wood,  gum-trees, 
and  the  cinnamon-tree,  while  in  some  parts  the 
cabbage-trees  raise  their  naked  columns,  more 
than  a  hundred  feet  high,  crowned  at  their  sum- 


106  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

mils  with  clustering  leaves,  and  towering  above 
the  wood  like  one  forest  piled  upon  another. 
Lianas,  of  various  foliage,  intertwining  among 
the  woods,  form  arcades  of  flowers,  and  ver- 
dant canopies:  those  trees  for  the  most  part 
shed  aromatic  odors  of  a  nature  so  powerful^ 
that  the  garments  of  a  traveller,  who  has  passed 
through  the  forest,  retain  for  several  hours  the 
delicious  fragrance.  In  the  season  when  those 
trees  produce  their  lavish  blossoms,  they  appear 
as  if  covered  with  snow. 

TVvvards  the  end  of  summer  various  kinds  of 
foreign  birds  hasten,  impelled  by  an  inexplica- 
ble instinct,  from  unknown  regions,  beyond  the 
immense  oceans,  to  gather  the  profuse  grains  of 
this  island;  and  the  brilliancy  of  their  expanded 
plumage  forms  a  contrast  to  the  trees,  em- ' 
browned  by  the  sun.  Such,  among  others,  are 
various  kinds  of  paroquets,  the  blue  pigeons, 
called  here  the  pigeons  of  Holland. 

The  domestic  inhabitants  of  our  forests,  mon- 
keys, sport  upon  the  dark  branches  of  the  trees, 
from  which  they  are  distinguished  by  their  grey 
and  greenish  skin,  and  their  black  visages. 
Some  hang  suspended  by  the  tail,  and  balance 
themselves  in  air;  others  leap  from  branch  to 
branch,  bearing  their  young  in  their  arms.  The 
murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  those  peace- 
ful children  of  nature.  You  sometimes  hear 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  107 

the  warblings  of  unknown  birds  from  the  southern 
countries,  repeated  at  a  distance  by  the  echoes 
of  the  forest.  The  river,  which  runs  in  foaming 
cataracts  over  a  bed  of  rocks,  reflects  here  and 
there  upon  its  limpid  waters,  venerable  masses 
of  woody  shade,  together  with  the  sports  of  its 
happy  inhabitants.  About  a  thousand  paces 
hence,  the  river  precipitates  itself  over  several 
piles  of  rocks,  and  forms  in  its  fall  a  sheet  of 
water  smooth  as  crystal,  but  which  breaks  at 
the  bottom  into  frothy  surges.  Innumerable 
confused  sounds  issue  from  those  tumultuous 
waters,  which,  scattered  by  the  winds  of  the 
forest,  sometimes  sink,  sometimes  swell,  and 
send  forth  a  hollow  tone  like  the  deep  bells  of 
a  cathedral.  The  air,  for  ever  renewed  by  the 
circulation  of  the  waters,  fans  the  banks  of  that 
river  with  freshness,  and  leaves  a  degree  of 
verdure,  notwithstanding  the  summer  heats, 
rarely  found  in  this  island,  even  upon  the  sum- 
mits of  the  mountains. 

At  some  distance  is  a  rock  placed  far  enough 
from  the  cascade  to  prevent  the  ear  from  being- 
deafened  by  the  noise  of  its  waters,  and  suffi- 
ciently near  for  the  enjoyment  of  their  view, 
their  coolness,  and  their  murmurs.  Thither, 
amid  the  heats  of  summer,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
Margaret,  Virginia,  Paul,  and  myself,  some- 
times repaired,  and  dined  beneath  the  shadow 


103  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

of  the  rock.  Virginia,  who  always  directed 
her  most  ordinary  actions  to  the  good  of  others, 
never  eat  of  any  fruit  without  planting  the  seed 
or  kernel  in  the  ground.  '  From  this,'  said  she, 
'  trees  will  spring,  which  will  give  their  fruit  to 
some  traveller,  or  at  least  to  some  bird. '  One 
day,  having  eaten  of  the  papaw-fruit,  at  the 
foot  of  that  rock  she  planted  the  seeds.  Soon 
after  several  papaws  sprung  up,  among  which 
was  one  that  yielded  fruit.  This  tree  had  risen 
but  a  little  from  the  ground  at  the  time  of  Vir- 
ginia's departure;  but,  its  growth  being  rapid, 
in  the  space  of  two  years  it  was  twenty  feet 
high,  and  the  upper  part  of  the  stem  was  encir- 
cled with  several  layers  of  ripe  fruit.  Paul 
having  wandered  to  that  spot,  was  delighted  to 
see  that  this  lofty  tree  had  arisen  from  the  small 
seed  planted  by  his  beloved  friend;  but  that 
emotion  instantly  gave  place  to  deep  melan- 
choly, at  this  evidence  of  her  long  absence. 
The  objects  which  we  see  habitually  do  not  re- 
mind us  of  the  rapidity  of  life;  they  decline  in- 
sensibly with  ourselves;  but  those  which  we 
behold  again,  after  having  for  some  years  lost 
sight  of  them,  impress  us  powerfully  with  the  idea 
of  that  swiftness  with  which  the  tide  of  our  days 
flows  on.  Paul  was  no  less  overwhelmed  and 
affected  at  the  sight  of  this  great  papaw-tree, 
loaded  with  fruit,  than  is  the  traveller  when, 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  109 

after  a  long  absence  from  his  own  country,  he 
finds  not  his  contemporaries,  but  their  children 
whom  he  left  at  the  breast,  and  whom  he  sees 
are  become  fathers  of  families.  Paul  sometimes 
thought  of  hewing  the  tree  which  recalled 
too  sensibly  the  distracting  image  of  that  length 
of  time  which  had  elapsed  since  the  departure 
of  Virginia.  Sometimes,  contemplating  it  as  a 
monument  of  her  benevolence,  he  kissed  its 
trunk,  and  apostrophized  it  in  terms  of  the  most 
passionate  regret:  and  indeed  I  have  myself 
gazed  upon  it  with  more  emotion  and  more 
veneration  than  upon  the  triumphal  arches  of 
Rome. 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw  I  was  always  sure 
fo  meet  with  Paul  when  he  came  into  our  neigh- 
borhood. One  day,  when  I  found  him  absorb- 
ed in  melancholy,  we  had  a  conversation  which 
I  will  relate  to  you,  if  I  do  not  weary  you  by 
my  long  digressions,  perhaps  pardonable  to  my 
age  and  my  last  friendships. 

Paul  said  to  me,  '  I  am  very  unhappy; 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  has  now  been  gone 
two  years  and  two  months,  and  we  have  heard 
no  tidings  of  her  for  eight  months  and  two 
weeks.  She  is  rich  and  I  am  poor.  She  has 
forgotten  me.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  follow 
her.  I  will  go  to  France,  I  will  serve  the  king, 
make  a  fortune,  and  then  Madamoiselle  de  la 


110  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA, 

Tour's  aunt  will  bestow  her  niece  upon  me, 
when  I  shall  became  a  great  lord.' 

1  But,  my  dear  friend,'  I  answered,  'have 
you  not  told  me  that  you  are  not  of  noble  birth?' 

'  My  mother  has  told  me  so,'  said  Paul;  '  as 
for  myself,  I  know  not  what  noble  birth  means. 

*  Obscure  birth,'  I  replied,  'in  France   shuts 
out  all  access  to  great  employments,   nor   can 
you  even  be  received  among  any  distinguished 
body  of  men.' 

(  How  unfortunate  I  am!'  resumed  Paul; 
'  every  thing  repulses  me  —  I  am  condemned  to 
waste  my  wretched  life  in  labor,  far  from  Vir- 
ginia'—  and  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

*  Her  relation, '  he  added,  '  will  only  give  her 
in  marriage  to  some  one  with   a  great  name. 
By  the  aid  of  study  we  become  wise  and  cele- 
brated.    I  will  fly  then  to  study;   I  will  acquire 
knowledge;   I  will  serve  my  country    usefully 
by  my  attainments ;   I  shall  be  independent;   I 
shall   become    renowned;     and    my   glory  will 
belong  only  to  myself.' 

*  My  son!  talents    are  still   more    rare   than 
birth  or  riches,  and  are   undoubtedly  an  inesti- 
mable good,  of  which  nothing  can  deprive  us, 
and  which  every  where   conciliate   public    es- 
teem.    Buyhey  cost   dear;  they  are  generally 
allied   to  exquisite    sensibility,    which  renders 
their  possessor  miserable.     But  you  tell  me  that 


PAUL    AXD   VIRGINIA.  Ill 

you  would  serve  mankind.  He  who,  from  the 
soil  which  he  cultivates,  draws  forth  one  addi- 
tional sheaf  of  corn,  serves  mankind  more  than 
he  who  presents  them  with  a  book.' 

'  Oh!  she  then,'  exclaimed  Paul,  'who  plant- 
ed this  papaw-tree,  made  a  present  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  forest  more  dear  and  more  use- 
ful than  if  she  had  given  them  a  library.'  And, 
seizing  the  tree  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  it  with 
transport. 

'  Ah!  I  desire  glory  only,'  he  resumed,  'to 
confer  it  upon  Virginia,  and  render  her  dear  to 
the  whole  universe.  But  you,  who  know  so 
much,  tell  me  if  we  shall  ever  be  married.  I 
wish  I  was  at  least  learned  enough  to  look  into 
futurity.  Virginia  must  come  back.  What 
need  has  she  of  a  rich  relation?  She  was  so 
happy  in  those  huts,  so  beautiful  and  so  well- 
dressed,  with  a  red  handkerchief  or  flowers 
round  her  head!  Return,  Virginia!  leave  your 
palaces,  your  splendor!  return  to  these  rocks, 
to  the  shade  of  our  woods  and  our  cocoa-trees! 
Alas!  you  are,  perhaps,  unhappy!'  —  and  he 
began  to  weep.  '  My  father!  conceal  nothing 
from  me  —  if  you  cannot  tell  me  whether  I  shall 
marry  Virginia  or  not,  tell  me,  at  least,  if  she 
still  loves  me  amid  those  great  lords  who  speak 
to  the  king,  and  go  to  see  her.' 

'Oh!  my  dear  friend,'    I   answered,  'I  am 


112  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

sure  that  she  loves  you  for  several  reasons,  but 
above  all,  because  she  is  all  goodness.'  At 
those  words  he  threw  himself  upon  my  neck  in 
a  transport  of  joy. 

*  But  what,'  said  he,  *  do  you  understand  by 
goodness?' 

*  My  son!  to  you  who  support  your  family  by 
your  labor,  it  need  not  be  defined.     Goodness 
is  that  which  causes  the  effort  which  we  make 
for  the  welfare  of  others,  with  the  intention  of 
pleasing  God.' 

*  Oh!  what  goodness   then,'  cried   he,   '  has 
Virginia!  Goodness  made  her  seek  for  riches, 
that  she  might  practice  benevolence.     Goodness 
led  her  to  forsake  this  island,  and  it  will  bring 
her   back.'     The  idea   of  her    return  fired  his 
imagination,  and  his  inquietudes  suddenly  van- 
ished.    Virginia,    he    was    persuaded,    had  not 
written  because  she  would  soon  arrive.     It  took 
so  little  time  to  come  from  Europe  with  a  fair 
wind!    Then   he  enumerated  the  vessels  which 
had  made  a  passage  of  four   thousand  five  hun- 
dred leagues   in    less    than    three  months,   and 
perhaps  the  vessel  in  which  Virginia  had  em- 
barked might  not  be  longer   than  two.     Ship- 
builders were  now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors  so 
expert!  He  then  told  me  of  the  arrangements 
he  would  make  for  her  reception,  of  the  new 
habitation  he  would  build  for  her,  of  the  pleas- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  113 

ures  and  surprises  which  each  day  should  bring 
along  with  it  when  she  was  his  wife  —  his  wife ! 
— -  that  hope  was  ecstacy.  '  At  least,  my  dear 
father,'  said  he,  'you  shall  then  do  nothing  more 
than  you  please.  Virginia  being  rich,  we  shall 
have  a  number  of  negroes  who  shall  labor  for 
you;  you  shall  always  live  with  us,  and  have 
no  other  care  than  to  amuse  and  rejoice  your- 
self:'—  and,  his  heart  throbbing  with  delight, 
he  flew  to  communicate  those  exquisite  sensa- 
tions to  his  family. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  the  most  cruel  ap- 
prehensions succeeded  those  enchanting  hopes. 
Violent  passions  ever  throw  the  soul  into  oppo- 
site extremes.  Paul  returned  to  my  dwelling 
absorbed  in  melancholy,  and  said  to  me,  *  I 
hear  nothing  from  Virginia;  had  she  left  Eu- 
rope she  would  have  informed  me  of  her  de- 
parture. Ah!  the  reports  which  I  have  heard 
concerning  her  are  but  too  well  founded.  Her 
aunt  has  married  her  to  some  great  lord.  She, 
like  others,  has  been  undone  by  the  love  of 
riches.  In  those  books  which  paint  women  so 
well,  virtue  is  but  a  subject  of  romance.  Had 
Virginia  been  virtuous,  she  would  not  have  for- 
saken her  mother  and  me,  and,  while  I  pass  life 
in  thinking  of  her,  forget  me.  While  I  am 
wretched,  she  is  happy.  Ah!  that  thought  dis- 
tracts me;  labor  becomes  painful,  and  society 
8 


114  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

irksome.     Would  to  heaven  that  war  were  de^- 
clared  in  India,  I  would  go  there  and  die.' 

4  My  son,'  I  answered,  '  that  courage  which 
prompts  us  to  court  death,  is  but  the  courage  of 
a  moment,  and  is  often  excited  by  the  vain 
hopes  of  posthumous  fame.  There  is  a  species 
of  courage  more  necessary  and  more  rare,  which 
makes  us  support  without  witness,  and  without 
applause,  the  various  vexations  of  life,  and  that 
is  patience.  Leaning  not  upon  the  opinions  of 
others,  but  upon  the  will  of  God.  Patience  is 
the  courage  of  virtue.' 

'Ah!'  cried  he,  c  I  am  then  without  virtue! 
everything  overwhelms  and  distracts  me.'  — 
'Equal,  constant,  and  invariable  virtue,'  I  re- 
plied, '  belong  not  to  man.  In  the  midst  of  so 
many  passions,  by  which  we  are  agitated,  our 
reason  is  disordered  and  obscured;  but  there  is 
an  ever-burning  lamp  at  which  we  can  rekindle 
its  flame,  and  that  is  literature.  —  Literature, 
my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of  heaven.  A  ray  of 
that  wisdom  which  governs  the  universe,  and 
which  man,  inspired  by  celestial  intelligence, 
has  drawn  down  to  earth:  like  the  sun  it  en- 
lightens, it  rejoices,  it  warms  with  a  divine 
flame,  and  seems  in  some  sort  like  the  element 
of  fire,  to  bend  all  nature  to  our  use.  By  the 
aid  of  literature,  we  bring  around  us  all  things, 
all  places,  men  and  times.  By  its  aid  we  calm 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA, 

the  passions,  suppress  vice,  and  excite  virtue. 
Literature  is  the  daughter  of  heaven,  who  has 
descended  upon  earth  to  soften  and  charm  all 
human  evils.  Have  recourse  to  your  books  then, 
•my  son.  The  sages  who  have  written  before 
our  days,  are  travellers  who  have  preceded  us 
in  the  paths  of  misfortune ;  who  stretched  out  a 
friendly  hand  toward  us,  and  invite  us  to  join 
their  society,  when  every  thing  else  abandons 
us.  A  good  book  is  a  good  friend.' 

o  o 

'Ah!'  cried  Paul,  *1  stood  in  no  need  of 
books  when  Virginia  was  here,  and  she  had 
studied  as  little  as  me ;  but  when  she  looked  at 
.me,  and  called  me  her  friend,  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  be  unkappy.' 

6  Undoubtedly,'  said  I,  c  there  is  no  friend  so 
agreeable  as  a  mistress  by  whom  we  are  belov- 
ed. Thejre  is  in  the  gay  graces  of  woman  a 
charm  that  dispels  the  dark  phantoms  of  reflec- 
tion. Upon  her  face  sits  soft  attraction,  and 
tender  confidence.  AVhat  joy  is  not  heightened 
in  which  she  shares?  What  brow  is  not  unbent 
by  her  smiles?  What  anger  can  resist  her  tears? 
—  Virginia  will  return  with  more  philosophy 
than  you,  and  will  be  surprised  not  to  find  the 
garden  finished ;  she  who  thought  of  its  env 
beilishments  amid  the  persecutions  of  her  aunt, 

far  from  her  mother  and  from  you.' 
The  idea  of  Virginia's  speedy  return  re-ani- 


116  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

mated  her  lover's  courage,  and  he  resumed  his 
pastoral  occupations.  Happy  amid  his  toils,  in 
the  reflection  that  they  would  find  a  termination 
so  dear  to  the  wishes  of  his  heart. 

The  24th  of  December,  1752,  at  break  of 
day,  Paul,  when  he  arose,  perceived  a  white 
flag  hoisted  upon  the  mountain  of  Discovery, 
which  was  the  signal  of  a  vessel  descried  at  sea. 
He  flew  to  the  town  in  order  to  learn  if  this 
vessel  brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia,  and 
waited  till  the  return  of  the  pilot,  who  had  gone 
as  usual  to  visit  the  ship.  The  pilot  brought 
the  governor  information  that  the  vessel  was  the 
Saint-Gerand  of  seven  hundred  tons,  comman- 
ded by  a  captain  of  the  name  of  Aubin;  that 
the  ship  was  now  four  leagues  out  at  sea,  and 
would  anchor  at  Port  Louis  the  following  after- 
noon if  the  wind  was  favorable;  at  present 
there  was  a  calm.  The  pilot  then  remitted  to  the 
governor  a  number  of  letters  from  France, 
among  which  was  one  addressed  to  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  in  the  hand-writing  of  Virginia.  Paul 
seized  upon  the  letter,  kissed  it  with  transport, 
placed  it  in  his  bosom,  and  flew  to  the  plantation. 
No  sooner  did  he  perceive  from  a  distance  the 
family,  who  were  waiting  his  return  upon  the 
Farewell  Rock,  than  he  waved  the  letter  in  the 
air,  without  having  the  power  to  speak,  and  in- 
itantly  the  whole  family  crowded  round  Mad- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  117 

ame  de  la  Tour  to  hear  it  read.  Virginia  in- 
formed her  mother  that  she  had  suffered  much 
ill-treatment  from  her  aunt,  who,  after  having 
in  vain  urged  her  to  marry  against  her  inclina- 
tion, had  disinherited  her,  and  at  length  sent  her 
back  at  such  a  season  of  the  year,  that  she 
must  probably  reach  the  Isle  of  France  at  the 
very  period  of  the  hurricanes.  In  vain,  she 
added,  she  had  endeavored  to  soften  her  aunt, 
by  representing  how  much  she  owed  to  her 
mother,  and  to  the  habits  of  her  early  years; 
she  had  been  treated  as  a  romantic  girl,  whose 
head  was  turned  by  novels.  At  present  she 
said  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  trans- 
port of  again  seeing  and  embracing  her  beloved 
family;  and  that  she  would  have  satisfied  this 
dearest  wish  of  her  heart  that  very  day,  if  the 
captain  would  have  permitted  her  to  embark  in 
the  pilot's  boat;  but  that  he  had  opposed  her 
going,  on  account  of  the  distance  from  the 
shore,  and  of  a  swell  in  the  ocean,  notwith- 
standing it  was  a  calm. 

Scarcely  was  the  letter  finished  when  the 
whole  family,  transported  with  joy,  repeated, 
*  Virginia  is  arrived!'  and  mistresses  and  ser- 
vants embraced  each  other.  Madame  de  la 
Tour  said  to  Paul,  c  My  son  go  and  inform  our 
neighbor  of  Virginia's  arrival. '  Domingo  im- 


H&  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

mediately  lighted  a  torch;  and  he  and  Pan! 
bent  their  way  toward  my  plantation. 

It  was  about  ten  at  night,  and  I  was  going  to 
extinguish  my  lamp  and  retire  to  rest,  when  I 
perceived  through  the  palisades  of  my  hut  a 
tight  in  the  woods.  I  arose,  and  had  just  dres- 
sed myself,  when  Paul,  half  wild,  and  pantirg 
for  breath,  sprung  on  my  neck,  crying,  '  Come 
along,  come  along,  Virginia  is  arrived!  Let  us 
go  to  the  Port,  the  vessel  will  anchor  at  break 
of  day.' 

We  instantly  set  off.  As  we  were  traversing 
the  woods  of  the  sloping  mountain,  and  were- 
already  on  the  road  which  leads  from  the  Shad- 
dock Grove  to  the  Port,  I  heard  some  one 
walking  behind  us.  When  this  person,  who 
was  a  negro,  and  who  advanced  with  hasty 
steps,  had  reached  us,  I  inquired  whence  he 
came,  and  whether  he  was  going  with  such 
haste.  He  answered  e  I  come  from  that  part  of 
the  island  called  Golden  Dust,  and  am  sent  to 
the  Port,  to  inform  the  governor,  that  a  ship 
from  France  has  anchored  upon  the  island  of 
Amber,  and  fires  guns  of  distress,  for  the  sea  is 
very  stormy.'  Having  said  this,  the  man  left 
us  and  persued  his  journey. 

*  Let  us  go, y  said  I  to  Paul,  '  toward  that 
part  of  the  island,  and  meet  Virginia.  It  is 
only  three  leagues  from  this.  '  Accordingly  wts 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  119 

Vent  our  course  thither.  The  heat  was  suffoca- 
ting. The  moon  had  risen,  and  was  encompas- 
sed by  three  large  black  circles.  A  dismal 
darkness  shrouded  the  sky,  but  the  frequent 
flashes  of  lightning  discovered  long  chains  of 
thick  clouds,  gloomy,  low  hung  and  heaped  to- 
gether over  the  middle  of  the  island,  after  hav- 
ing rolled  with  great  rapidity  from  the  ocean, 
although  we  felt  not  a  breath  of  wind  upon  the 
land.  As  we  walked  along  we  thought  we 
heard  peals  of  thunder;  but,  after  listening  more 
attentively,  we  found  they  were  the  sound  of 
distant  cannon  repeated  by  the  echoes.  Those 
sounds,  joined  to  the  tempestuous  aspect  of  the 
heavens,  made  me  shudder.  I  had  little  doubt 
that  they  were  signals  of  distress  from  a  ship  in 
danger.  In  half  an  hour  the  firing  ceased,  and 
I  felt  the  silence  more  appalling  than  the  dis- 
mal sounds  which  had  preceeded. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a  word,  or 
daring  to  communicate  our  apprehensions.  At 
midnight  we  arrived  on  the  sea-shore  at  that 
part  of  the  island.  The  billows  broke  against 
the  beach  with  a  horrible  noise,  covering  the 
rocks  and  the  strand  with  their  foam  of  a  daz- 
zling whiteness,  and  blended  with  sparks  of  fire. 
By  their  phosphoric  gleams  we  distinguished,  not- 
withstanding the  darkness,  the  canoes  of  the  fish- 
ermen, which  they  had  drawn  far  upon  the  sand. 


120  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

Near  the  shore,  at  the  entrance  of  a  wood, 
we  saw  a  fire,  round  which  several  of  the  in- 
habitants were  assembled.  Thither  we  repair- 
ed, in  order  to  repose  ourselves  till  morning. 
One  of  the  circle  related,  that  in  the  afternoon 
he  had  seen  a  vessel  driven  toward  the  island 
by  the  currents;  that  the  night  had  hid  it  from 
his  view,  and  that  two  hours  after  sun-set  he 
had  heard  the  firing  of  guns  in  distress;  but 
that  the  sea  was  so  tempestuous,  that  no  boat 
could  venture  out;  that  a  short  time  after,  he 
thought  he  perceived  the  glimmering  of  the 
watch-lights  on  board  the  vessel,  which  he  fear- 

o  ' 

ed,  by  its  having  approached  so  near  the  coast, 
had  steered  between  the  main  land  and  the  little 
island  of  Amber,  mistaking  it  for  the  Point  of 
Endeavor,  near  which  the  vessels  pass  in  order 
to  gain  Port  Louis.  If  this  was  the  case,  which 
however  he  could  not  affirm,  the  ship  he  appre- 
hended was  in  great  danger.  Another  islander 
then  informed  us,  that  he  had  frequently  crossed 
the  channel  which  separates  the  isle  of  Amber 
from  the  coast,  and  which  he  had  sounded;  that 
the  anchorage  was  good,  and  that  the  ship 
would  there  be  in  as  great  security  as  if  it  were 
in  harbor.  A  third  islander  declared  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  ship  to  enter  that  channel,  which 
was  scarcely  navigable  fora  boat;  he  asserted 
that  he  had  seen  a  vessel  at  anchor  beyond  the 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  121 

isle  of  Amber,  so  that  if  the  wind  arose  in  the 
morning,  it  could  either  put  to  sea,  or  gain  the 
harbor.  Different  opinions  were  stated  upon 
this  subject,  which  while  those  indolent  Creoles 
calmly  discussed,  Paul  and  I  observed  a  pro- 
found silence.  We  remained  on  this  spot  till 
break  of  day,  when  the  weather  was  too  hazy 
to  admit  of  our  distinguishing  any  object  at  sea, 
which  was  covered  with  fog.  All  we  could 
descry  was  a  dark  cloud,  which  they  told  us 
was  the  isle  of  Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a 
quarter  of  a  league  from  the  coast.  We  could 
only  discern  on  this  gloomy  day  the  point  of  the 
beach  where  we  stood,  and  the  peaks  of  some 
mountains  in  the  interior  part  of  the  island, 
rising  occasionally  amid  the  clouds  which  hung 
around  them. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  we  heard  the  beat 
of  drums  in  the  woods,  and  soon  after  the  gov- 
ernor, Moniseur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  arrived  on 
horseback,  followed  by  a  detachment  of  sol- 
diers armed  with  muskets,  and  a  great  number 
of  islanders  and  blacks.  He  ranged  his  sol- 
diers upon  the  beach,  and  ordered  them  to  make 
a  general  discharge,  which  was  no  sooner  done, 
than  we  perceived  a  glimmering  light  upon  the 
water,  which  was  instantly  succeeded  by  the 
sound  of  a  gun.  We  judged  that  the  ship  was 
at  no  great  distance,  and  ran  toward  that  part 


122  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

where  we  had  seen  the  light.  We  now  discern- 
ed through  the  fog  the  hulk  and  tackling  of  a 
large  vessel;  and,  notwithstanding  the  noise  of 
the  waves,  we  were  near  enough  to  hear  the 
whistle  of  the  boatswain  at  the  helm,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  mariners.  As  soon  as  the  Saint- 
Gerand  perceived  that  we  were  near  enough  to 
give  her  succor,  she  continued  to  fire  guns  reg- 
ularly at  the  interval  of  three  minutes.  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Bourdonnais  caused  great  fires  to  be 
lighted  at  certain  distances  upon  the  strand,  and 
sent  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  that  neighborhood, 
in  search  of  provisions,  planks,  cable,  and  emp- 
ty barrels.  A  crowd  of  people  soon  arrived, 
accompanied  by  their  negroes  loaded  with  pro- 
visions and  rigging.  One  of  the  most  aged  of 
the  planters  approaching  the  governor,  said  to 
him,  '  We  have  heard  all  night  hoarse  noises 
in  the  mountain,  and  in  the  forests;  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  are  shaken,  although  there  is  no 
wind;  the  sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the  land; 
it  is  certain  that  all  those  signs  announce  a  hur- 
ricane. ' — 'Well,  my  friends,'  answered  the 
governor,  '  we  are  prepared  for  it;  and  no  doubt 
the  vessel  is  also. ' 

Every  thing,  indeed,  presaged  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  hurricane.  The  center  of  the 
clouds  in  the  zenith  was  of  a  dismal  black, 
while  their  skirts  were  fringed  with  copper  hue. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 


123 


The  air  resounded  with  the  cries  of  the  frigate- 
bird,  the  cur-water,  and  a  multitude  of  other 
sea-birds,  who,  notwithstanding  the  obscurity 
of  the  atmosphere,  hastened  from  all  points  of 
the  horizon  to  seek  shelter  in  the  island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  on 
the  side  of  the  ocean  the  most  terrific  noises, 
as  if  torrents  of  water,  mingled  with  thunder, 
were  rolling  down  the  steeps  of  the  mountains. 
A  general  cry  was  heard,  (  There  is  the  hur- 
ricane ! '  and  in  one  moment  a  frightful  whirl- 
wind scattered  the  fog  which  had  covered  the 
isle  of  Amber  and  its  channel.  The  Saint-Ger- 
and  then  presented  itself  to  our  view,  her  gal- 
lery crowded  with  people,  her  yards  and  main- 
top-mast laid  upon  the  deck,  her  flag  shivered, 
with  four  cables  at  her  head,  and  one  by  which 
she  was  held  at  the  stern.  She  had  anchored 
between  the  isle  of  Amber  and  the  main  land, 
within  that  chain  of  breakers  which  encircles 
the  island,  and  which  bar  she  had  passed  over 
in  a  place  where  no  vessel  had  ever  gone  before. 
She  presented  her  head  to  the  waves  which 
rolled  from  the  open  sea,  and  as  each  billow 
rushed  into  the  straits,  the  ship  heaved,  so  that 
her  keel  was  in  air,  and  at  the  same  moment  her 
stern,  plunging  into  the  water,  disappeared  al- 
together, as  if  it  were  swallowed  up  by  the  sur- 
ges. In  this  position,  driven  by  the  winds  and 


124  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

waves  toward  the  shore,  it  was  equally  impossi- 
ble for  her  to  return  by  the  passage  through 
which  she  had  made  her  way,  or  by  cutting  her 
cables  to  throw  herself  upon  the  beach  from 
which  she  was  separated  by  sand  banks  mingled 
with  breakers.  Every  billow  which  broke  upon 
the  coast  advanced  roaring  to  the  bottom  of  the 
bay,  and  threw  planks  to  the  distance  of  fifty  feet 
upon  the  land,  then,  rushing  back,  laid  bare  its 
sandy  bed,  from  which  it  rolled  immense  stones 
with  a  hoarse  dismal  noise.  The  sea  swelled  by 
the  violence  of  the  wind,  rose  higher  every  mo- 
ment, and  the  channel,  between  this  island  and 
the  isle  of  Amber,  was  but  one  vast  sheet  of 
white  foam,  with  yawning  pits  of  black  deep 
billows.  The  foam  boiling  in  the  gulph  was 
more  than  six  feet  high,  and  the  winds  which 
swept  its  surface  bore  it  over  the  steep  coast 
more  than  half  a  league  upon  the  land.  Those 
innumerable  white  flakes,  driven  horizontally 
as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  appeared 
like  snow  issuing  from  the  ocean,  which  was 
now  confounded  with  the  sky.  Thick  clouds 
of  a  horrible  form  swept  along  the  zenith  with 
the  swiftness  of  birds,  while  others  appeared 
motionless  as  rocks.  No  spot  of  azure  could 
be  discerned  in  the  firmament,  only  a  pale  yel- 
low gleam  displayed  the  objects  of  earth,  sea, 
and  skies. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA,  125 

From  the  violent  efforts  of  the  ship,  what  we 
dreaded  happened.     The  cables  at  the  head  of 
the  vessel  were  torn  away,  it  was  then  held  by 
one  anchor  only,  and  was  instantly  dashed  upon 
the  rocks  at  the  distance  of  half  a  cable's  length 
from  the  shore.     A  general  cry  of  horror  issued 
from  the  spectators.     Paul  rushed  toward  the 
sea,  when,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  I  exclaim- 
ed '  Would    you  perish?  '  Let  me  go  to    save 
her,'  cried  he,  *  or  die!'  Seeing   that  despair 
had   deprived   him  of  reason,  Domingo  and  I, 
in  order  to  preserve  him,  fastened  a  long  cord 
round  his  waist,  and   seized  hold  of  each  end. 
Paul  then  precipitated  himself  toward  the  ship, 
now  swimming,     and    now    walking    upon   the 
breakers.    Sometimes  he  had  the  hope  of  reach- 
ing the  vessel,  which  the  sea  in  its   irregular 
movements  had   left   almost   dry,  so   that   you 
could  have  made  its  circuit  on  foot,  but  sudden- 
ly the  waves,  advancing  with  new  fury,  shroud- 
ed it  beneath   mountains  of  water,   which  then 
lifted  it  upright  upon  its  keel;  the  billows  at  the 
same  moment  threw  the    unfortunate   Paul  far 
upon  the  beach,  his  legs  bathed  in  blood,   his 
bosom  wounded,    and  himself  half  dead.     The 
moment  he  had  recovered  his  senses,  he  arose, 
and  returned  with  new  ardor  toward  the  vessel, 
the  parts  of  which  now  yawned  asunder   from 
the  violent  strokes  of  the  billows.     The  crew 


126  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

then,  desparing  of  their  safety,  threw  themselves 
in  crowds  into  the  sea,  upon  yards,  planks,  bird- 
cages, tables,  and  barrels.  At  this  moment  we 
beheld  an  object  fitted  to  excite  eternal  sympa- 
thy ;  a  young  lady  in  the  gallery  of  the  stern  of 
the  Saint-Gerand  stretching  out  her  arms  toward 
him  who  made  so  many  efforts  to  join  her.  It 
was  Virginia.  She  had  discovered  her  lover 
by  his  iijlrepidity.  The  sight  of  this  amiable 
young  woman,  exposed  to  such  horrible  danger, 
filled  us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for  Vir- 
ginia, with  a  firm  and  dignified  mien,  she  waved 
her  hand  as  if  bidding  us  an  eternal  farewell. 
All  the  sailors  had  Hung  themselves  into  the 
sea,  except  one  who  still  remained  upon  the 
deck,  and  who  wras  naked  and  strong  as  Her- 
cules. This  man  approached  Virginia  with 
respect,  and  kneeling  at  her  feet,  attempted  to 
force  her  to  throw  off  her  clothes,  but  she  re- 
pulsed him  with  modesty,  and  turned  away  her 
head.  Then  was  heard  redoubled  cries  from 
the  spectators,  {  Save  her!  save  her!  do  not 
leave  her!'  but  at  that  moment  a  mountain  bil- 
low of  enormous  magnitude  ingulphed  itself 
between  the  isle  of  Amber  and  the  coast,  and 
menanced  the  shattered  vessel  toward  which  it 
rolled  bellowing,  with  its  black  sides  and  foam- 
ing head.  At  this  terrible  sight  the  sailor  flung 
iiimself  into  the  sea,  and  Virginia  seeing  death 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  137 

inevitable,  placed  one  hand  upon  her  clothes, 
the  other  on  her  heart,  and  lifting  up  her  lovely 
eyes,  seemed  an  angel  prepared  to  take  her 
flight  to  heaven. 

Oh,  day  of  horror!  Alas!  everything  was 
swallowed  up  by  the  relentless  billows.  The 
surge  threw  some  of  the  spectators  far  upon  the 
beach,  whom  an  impulse  of  humanity  prompted 
to  advance  toward  Virginia,  and  also  the  sailor 
who  had  endeavored  to  save  her  life.  This 
man,  who  had  escaped  from  almost  certain 
death,  kneeling  on  the  sand,  exclaimed,  '  Oh, 
my  God!  Thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I  would 
have  given  it  willingly  for  that  poor  young 
woman!' 

Domingo  and  myself  drew  Paul  senseless  to 
the  shore,  the  blood  flowing  from  his  mouth  and 
ears.  The  governor  put  him  into  the  hands  of 
a  surgeon,  while  we  sought  along  the  beach  for 
the  corpse  of  Virginia;  but  the  wind  having 
suddenly  changed,  which  frequently  happens 
during  hurricanes,  our  search  was  vain,  and 
we  lamented  that  wre  could  not  even  pay  this 
unfortunate  young  woman  the  last  sad  sepulchral 
duties. 

We  retired  from  the  spot,  overwhelmed  with 
dismay,  and  our  minds  wholly  occupied  by  one 
cruel  loss,    although  numbers   had   perished  in 
he   wreck.      Some   of  the   spectators  seemed 


128  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

tempted,  from  the  fatal  destiny  of  this  virtuous 
young  woman,  to  doubt  the  existence  of  Provi- 
dence. Alas!  there  are  in  life  such  terrible, 
such  unmerited  evils,  that  even  the  hope  of  the 
wise  is  sometimes  shaken. 

In  the  mean  time  Paul,  who  began  to  recover 
his  senses,  was  taken  to  a  house  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, till  he  was  able  to  be  removed  to  his 
own  habitation.  Thither  I  bent  my  way  with 
Domingo,  and  undertook  the  sad  task  of  pre- 
paring Virginia's  mother  and  her  friend  for  the 
melancholy  event  which  had  happened.  When 
we  reached  the  entrance  of  the  valley  of  the 
river  of  Fan  Palms,  some  negroes  informed  us 
that  the  sea  had  thrown  many  pieces  of  the 
wreck  into  the  opposite  bay:  we  descended  to- 
ward it;  and  one  of  the  first  objects  which 
struck  my  sight  upon  the  beach  was  the  corpse 
of  Virginia.  The  body  was  half  covered  with 
sand,  and  in  the  attitude  in  which  we  had  seen 
her  perish.  Her  features  were  not  changed, 
her  eyes  were  closed,  her  countenance  was 
still  serene;  but  the  pale  violets  of  death  were 
blended  on  her  cheek,  with  the  blush  of  virgin 
modesty.  One  of  her  hands  was  placed  upon 
her  clothes,  and  the  other,  which  she  held  on 
her  heart,  was  fast  closed,  and  so  stiffened,  that 
it  was  with  difficulty  I  took  from  its  grasp  a 
•mall  box.  How  great  was  my  emotion,  when 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  129 

I  saw  it  contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which 
she  had  promised  him  never  to  part  with  while 
she  lived!  At  the  sight  of  this  last  mark  of 
fidelity  and  tenderness  of  that  unfortunate  girl, 
I  wept  bitterly.  As  for  Domingo,  he  beat  his 
breast,  and  pierced  the  air  with  his  cries.  We 
carried  the  body  of  Virginia  to  a  fisher's  hut, 
and  gave  it  in  charge  of  some  poor  Malabar 
women, who  carefully  washed  away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melan- 
choly office,  we  ascended  with  trembling  steps 
to  the  plantation.  We  found  Madame  de  la 
Tour  and  Margaret  at  prayer,  while  waiting 
for  tidings  from  the  ship.  As  soon  as  Madame 
de  la  Tour  saw  me  coming,  she  eagerly  cried, 
1  Where  is  my  child,  my  dear  child?'  My  si- 
lence and  my  tears  apprized  her  of  her  mis- 
fortunes. She  was  seized  with  convulsive  sti- 
flings,  with  agonizing  pains,  and  her  voice  was 
only  heard  in  groans.  Margaret  cried,  '  Where 
is  my  son?  I  do  not  see  my  son! '  and  fainted. 
We  ran  to  her  assistance;  in  a  short  time  she 
recovered,  and  being  assured  that  her  son  was 
safe  and  under  the  care  of  the  governor,  she 
only  thought  of  succoring  her  friend,  who  had 
long,  successive  faintings.  Madame  de  la  Tour 
passed  the  night  in  sufferings  so  exquisite,  that 
I  became  convinced  there  was  no  sorrow  like  a 
mother's  sorrow.  When  she  recovered  her 
9 


130  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

senses,  she  cast  her  languid  and  stedfast  looks 
on  heaven.  In  vain  her  friend  and  myself  pres- 
sed her  hands  in  ours,  in  vain  we  called  upon 
her  by  the  most  tender  names.  She  appeared 
wholly  insensible,  and  her  oppressed  bosom 
heaved  deep  and  hollow  moans. 

In  the  morning  Paul  was  brought  home  in  a 
palanquin.  He  was  now  restored  to  reason, 
but  unable  to  utter  a  word.  His  interview 
with  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  which 
I  had  dreaded,  produced  a  better  effect  than  all 
my  cares.  A  ray  of  consolation  gleamed  upon 
the  countenances  of  those  unfortunate  mothers. 
They  flew  to  meet  him,  clasped  him  in  their 
arms,  and  bathed  him  with  tears,  which  excess 
of  anguish  had  till  tiow  forbidden  to  flow.  Paul 
mixed  his  tears  with  theirs;  and,  nature  having 
thus  found  relief,  a  long  stupor  succeeded  the 
convulsive  pangs  they  had  suffered,  and  gave 
them  a  lethargic  repose  like  that  of  death. 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  sent  to  apprize 
me  secretly  that  the  corpse  of  Virginia  had 
been  borne  to  the  town  by  his  order,  whence  it 
was  to  be  transferred  to  the  church  of  the  Shad- 
dock Grove.  I  hastened  to  Port  Louis,  and 
found  a  multitude  assembled  from  all  parts,  in 
order  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  solemnity,  as 
if  the  whole  island  had  lost  its  fairest  ornament. 
The  vessels  in  the  harbor  had  their  yards  cross- 
ed, their  flags  hoisted,  and  fired  guns  at  inter- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  131 

vals.  The  grenadiers  led  the  funeral  proces- 
sion, with  their  muskets  reversed,  their  drums 
muffled,  and  sending  forth  slow  dismal  sounds. 
Eight  young  ladies  of  the  most  considerable 
families  of  the  island,  dressed  in  white,  and 
bearing  palms  in  their  hands,  supported  the 
pall  of  their  amiable  companion,  which  was 
strewed  with  flowers.  They  were  followed  by 
a  band  of  children  chanting  hymns,  and  by  the 
governor,  his  field  officers,  all  the  principal  in- 
habitants of  the  island,  and  an  immense  crowd 
of  people. 

This  funeral  solemnity  had  been  ordered  by 
the  administration  of  the  country,  who  were  de- 
sirous of  rendering  honors  to  the  virtue  of  Vir- 
ginia. But  when  the  procession  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  this  mountain,  at  the  sight  of  those  cot- 
tages, of  which  she  had  so  long  been  the  orna- 
ment and  happiness,  and  which  her  loss  now 
filled  with  despair,  the  funeral  pomp  was  inter- 
rupted, the  hymns  and  anthems  ceased,  and  the 
plain  resounded  with  sighs  and  lamentations. 
Companies  of  young  girls  ran  from  the  neigh- 
boring plantations  to  touch  the  coffin  of  Virgin- 
ia with  their  scarfs,  chaplets,  and  crowns  of 
flowers,  invoking  her  as  a  saint.  Mothers 
asked  of  Heaven  a  child  like  Virginia  ;  lovers, 
a  heart  as  faithful  ;  the  poor,  as  tender  a  friend  ; 
and  the  slaves,  as  kind  a  mistress. 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the  place 


132  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

of  interment,  the  negresses  of  Madagascar,  and 
the  caffres  of  Mozambique,  placed  baskets  of 
fruit  around  the  corpse,  and  hung  pieces  of  stuff 
upon  the  neighboring  trees,  according  to  the 
custom  of  their  country.  The  Indians  of  Ben- 
gal, and  of  the  coast  of  Malabar,  brought  cages 
filled  with  birds,  which  they  set  at  liberty  upon 
her  coffin.  Thus  did  the  loss  of  this  amiable 
object  affect  the  natives  of  different  countries, 
and  thus  was  the  ritual  of  various  religions 
breathed  over  the  tomb  of  unfortunate  virtue. 

She  was  interred  near  the  church  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove,  upon  the  western  side,  at  the 
foot  of  a  copso  of  bamboos,  where,  in  coming 
from  mass  with  her  mother  and  Margaret,  she 
loved  to  repose  herself,  seated  by  him  whom 
she  called  her  brother. 

On  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity, 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  came  hither  fol- 
lowed by  part  of  his  numerous  train.  He 
offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  all 
the  assistance  which  it  was  in  his  power  to  be- 
stow. After  expressing  his  indignation  at  the 
conduct  of  her  unnatural  aunt,  he  advanced  to 
Paul,  and  said  every  thing  which  he  thought 
most  likely  to  sooth  and  console  him.  *  Heaven 
is  my  witness,  '  said  he,  '  that  I  wished  to  en- 
sure your  happiness,  and  that  of  your  family. 
My  dear  friend,  you  must  go  to  France  ;  I  will 
obtain  a  commission  for  you,  and  during  your 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  133 

absence  will  take  the  same  care  of  your  mother 
as  if  she  were  my  own. '  He  then  offered  him 
his  hand,  but  Paul  drew  away,  and  turned  his 
head,  unable  to  bear  his  sight. 

I  remained  at  the  plantation  of  my  unfortu- 
nate friends,  that  I  might  render  to  them  find 
Paul  those  offices  of  friendship  which  soften, 
though  they  cannot  cure,  calamity.  At  the  end 
of  three  weeks  Paul  was  able  to  walk,  yet  his 
mind  seemed  to  droop  in  proportion  as  his  frame 
gathered  strength.  He  was  insensible  to  every 
thing,  his  look  was  vacant,  and  when  spoken 
to,  he  made  no  reply.  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
who  was  dying,  said  to  him  often,  f  My  son, 
while  I  look  at  you  I  think  I  see  Virginia. y 
At  the  name  of  Virginia  he  shuddered,  and 
hastened  from  her,  notwithstanding  the  entrea- 
tries  of  his  mother,  who  called  him  back  to  her 
friend.  He  used  to  wander  into  the  garden, 
and  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  Virginia's  cocoa- 
tree,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fountain. 
The  surgeon  of  the  governor,  who  had  shewn 
the  most  humane  attention  to  Paul,  and  the 
whole  family,  told  us,  that,  in  order  to  cure  the 
deep  melancholy  which  had  taken  possession  of 
his  mind,  we  must  allow  him  to  do  whatever  he 
pleased,  without  contradiction,  as  the  only 
means  of  conquering  his  inflexible  silence. 

I  resolved  to  follow  this  advice.  The  first 
use  which  Paul  made  of  his  returning  strength 


134  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

was  to  absent  himself  from  the  plantation.  Be- 
ing determined  not  to  loose  sight  of  him,  I  set 
out  immediately,  and  desired  Domingo  to  take 
some  provisions  and  accompany  us.  Paul's 
strength  and  spirits  seemed  renewed  as  he  des- 
cervded  the  mountain.  He  took  the  road  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove;  and  when  he  was  near  the 
church  in  the  alley  of  Bamboes,  he  walked 
directly  to  the  spot  where  he  saw  some  new- 
laid  earth,  and  there  kneeling  down,  and  raising 
his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  offered  up  a  long  prayer, 
which  appeared  to  me  a  symptom  of  returning 
reason;  since  this  mark  of  confidence  in  the 
Supreme  Being  shewed  that  his  mind  began  to 
resume  its  natural  functions.  Domingo  and  I, 
following  his  example,  fell  upon  our  knees,  and 
mingled  our  prayers  with  his.  When  he  arose, 
he  bent  his  way,  paying  little  attention  to  us, 
toward  the  northern  part  of  the  island.  As  we 
knew  that  he  was  not  only  ignorant  of  the  spot 
where  the  body  of  Virginia  was  laid,  but  even 
whether  it  had  been  snatched  from  the  waves, 
I  asked  him  why  he  had  offered  up  his  prayer 
at  the  foot  of  those  bamboes.  He  answered, 
'  We  have  been  there  so  often  ! '  —  He  contin- 
ued his  course  until  we  reached  the  borders  of 
the  forest,  when  night  came  on.  I  prevailed 
with  him  to  take  some  nourishment;  and  we 
slept  upon  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  a  tree:  the 
next  day  I  thought  he  seemed  disposed  to  trace 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  135 

back  his  steps;  for,  after  having  gazed  a  consid- 
erable time  upon  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  with  its  avenues  of  bamboes  stretching 
along  the  plain,  he  made  a  motion  as  if  he 
would  return;  but,  suddenly  plunging  into  the 
forest,  he  directed  his  course  to  the  north,.  I 
judged  what  was  his  design,  from  which  I 
endeavered  to  dissuade  him,  but  in  vain.  At 
noon  we  arrived  at  that  part  of  the  island  called 
the  Gold-Dust.  He  rushed  to  the  sea-shore, 
opposite  to  the  spot  where  the  Saint-Geran 
perished.  At  the  sight  of  the  isle  of  Amber, 
and  its  channel  then  smooth  as  a  mirror,  he 
cried,  'Virginia!  oh,  my  dear  Virginia!'  —  and 
fell  senseless.  Domingo  and  myself  carried 
him  into  the  woods,  where  he  recovered  with 
some  difficulty.  He  ma.de  an  effort  to  return  to 
the  sea-shore,  but,  having  conjured  him  not  to 
renew  his  own  anguish  and  ours  by  those  cruel 
remembrances,  he  took  another  direction.  Du- 
ring eight  days,  he  sought  every  spot  where  he 
had  once  wandered  with  the  companion  of  his 
childhood.  He  traced  the  path  by  which  she 
had  gone  to  intercede  for  the  slave  of  the  Black 
River.  He  gazed  again  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Three  Peaks,  where  she  had  reposed  herself 
when  unable  to  walk  farther,  and  upon  that  part 
of  the  wood  where  they  lost  their  way.  All 
those  haunts  which  recalled  the  inquietudes, 
the  sports,  the  repasts,  the  benevolence  of  her 


136  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

he  loved,  the  river  of  the  sloping  mountain,  my 
house,  the  neighboring  cascade,  the  papaw-tree 
she  planted,  the  mossy  downs  where  she  loved 
to  run,  the  openings  of  the  forest  where  she 
used  to  sing,  called  forth  successively  the  tears 
of  hopeless  passion;  and  those  very  echoes 
which  had  so  often  resounded  their  mutual 
shouts  of  joy,  now  only  repeated  those  accents 
of  despair,  '  Virginia!  Oh,  my  dear  Virginia!' 
While  he  led  this  savage  and  wandering  life, 
his  eyes  became  sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin 
assumed  a  yellow  tint,  and  his  health  rapidly 
decayed.  Convinced  that  present  sufferings 
are  rendered  more  acute  by  the  bitter  recollec- 
tion of  past  pleasures,  and  that  the  passions 
gather  strength  in  solitude,  I  resolved  to  tear 
my  unfortunate  friend  from  those  scenes  which 
recalled  the  remembrance  of  his  loss,  and  to 
lead  him  to  a  more  busy  part  of  the  island. 
With  this  view  I  conducted  him  to  the  inhabited 
heights  of  Williams,  which  he  had  never  visited, 
and  where  agriculture  and  commerce  ever 
occasioned  much  bustle  and  variety.  A  crowd 
of  carpenters  were  employed  in  hewing  down 
the  trees,  while  others  were  sawing  planks. 
Carriages  were  passing  and  repassing  on  the 
roads.  Numerous  herds  of  oxen  and  troops  of 
horses  were  feeding  on  those  ample  meadows, 
over  which  a  number  of  habitations  were  scat- 
tered. On  many  spots  the  elevation  of  the  soil 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  137 

was  favorable  to  the  culture  of  European  trees: 
ripe  corn  waved  its  yellow  sheaves  upon  the 
plains;  strawberry  plants  flourished  in  the 
openings  of  the  woods,  and  hedges  of  rose- 
bushes along  the  roads.  The  freshness  of  the 
air,  by  giving  a  tension  to  the  nerves,  was 
favorable  to  the  Europeans.  From  those 
heights,  situated  near  the  middle  of  the  island, 
and  surrounded  by  extensive  forests,  you  could 
neither  discern  Port-Louis,  the  church  of  the 
Shaddock-Grove,  or  any  other  object  which 
could  recall  to  Paul  the  remembrance  of  Virgin- 
ia. Even  the  mountains,  which  appear  of  vari- 
ous shapes  on  the  side  of  Port-Louis,  present 
nothing  to  the  eye  from  those  plains,  but  a  long 
promontory  stretching  itself  in  a  strait  and  per- 
pendicular line,  whence  arise  lofty  pyramids  of 
rocks,  on  the  summits  of  which  the  clouds 
repose. 

To  those  scenes  I  conducted  Paul,  and  kept 
him  continually  in  action,  walking  with  him  iri 
rain  and  sunshine,  night  and  day,  and  contriving 
that  he  should  lose  himself  in  the  depth  of  for- 
ests, leading  him  over  untilled  grounds,  and 
endeavoring,  by  violent  fatigue,  to  divert  his 
mind  from  its  gloomy  meditations,  and  change 
the  course  of  his  reflections,  by  his  ignorance 
of  the  paths  where  we  wandered:  but  the  soul 
of  a  lover  finds  every  where  the  traces  of  the 
object  beloved.  The  night  and  the  day,  the 


138  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

calm  of  solitude,  and  the  tumult  of  crowds, 
time  itself,  while  it  casts  the  shade  of  oblivion 
over  so  many  other  remembrances,  in  vain 
would  tear  that  tender  and  sacred  recollection 
from  the  heart;  which,  like  the  needle  when 
touched  by  the  loadstone,  however  it  may  have 
been  forced  into  agitation,  is  no  sooner  left  to 
repose  than  it  turns  to  the  pole  by  which  it  was 
attracted.  When  I  enquired  of  Paul,  while 
we  wandered  amid  the  plains  of  Williams, 
'Where  are  we  now  going?'  He  pointed  to 
the  north,  and  said,  c  Yonder  are  our  mountains, 
let  us  return.' 

Upon  the  whole,  I  found  that  every  means  I 
took  to  divert  his  melancholy  was  fruitless,  and 
that  no  resource  was  left  but  an  attempt  to  com- 
bat his  passion  by  the  arguments  wrhich  reason 
suggested.  I  answered  him,  '  Yes,  there  are  the 
mountains  where  once  dwelt  your  beloved  Vir- 
ginia; and  this  is  the  picture  you  gave  her,  and 
which  she  held  when  dying  to  her  heart,  that 
heart  wrhich  even  in  her  last  moments  only  beat 
for  you.'  I  then  gave  Paul  the  little  picture 
which  he  had  given  Virginia  at  the  borders  of 
the  cocoa-tree  fountain.  At  this  sight  a  gloomy 
joy  overspread  his  looks.  He  eagerly  seized 
the  picture  with  his  feeble  hands,  and  held  it  to 
his  lips;  his  oppressed  bosom  seemed  ready  to 
burst  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears  which  had  no  power  to  flow. 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  139 

4  My  son,'  said  I,  c  listen  to  him  who  is  your 
friend,  who  was  the  friend  of  Virginia,  and 
who,  in  the  bloom  of  your  hopes,  endeavored 
to  fortify  your  mind  against  the  unforeseen  acci- 
dents of  life.  What  do  you  deplore  with  so 
much  bitterness?  Your  own  misfortunes,  or 
those  of  Virginia?  Your  own  misfortunes  are 
indeed  severe.  You  have  lost  the  most  amia- 
ble of  women,  she  who  sacrificed  her  own  inter- 
ests to  yours,  who  preferred  you  to  all  that  for- 
tune could  bestow,  and  considerd  you  as  the 
only  recompense  worthy  of  her  virtues.  But 
might  not  this  very  object,  from  whom  you 
expected  the  purest  happiness,  have  proved  to 
you  a  source  of  the  most  cruel  distress  ?  She 
had  returned  poor,  disinherited,  and  all  you 
could  henceforth  have  partaken  with  her  was 
your  labors;  while  rendered  more  delicate  by 
her  education,  and  more  courageous  by  her 
misfortunes,  you  would  have  beheld  her  every 
day  sinking  beneath  her  efforts  to  share  and 
soften  your  fatigues.  Had  she  been  joined  to 
you,  it  would  only  have  served  to  increase  her 
inquietudes  and  your  own,  from  the  difficulty  of 
sustaining  your  aged  parents  and  an  infant  fam- 
ily.—  You  will  tell  me  there  would  have  been 
reserved  for  you  an  happiness  independent  of 
fortune,  that  of  protecting  a  -  beloved  object, 
which  attaches  itself  to  us  in  proportion  to  its 
helplessness;  that  your  pains  and  sufferings 


140  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

would  have  served  to  endear  you  to  each  other, 
and  that  your  passion  would  have  gathered 
strength  from  your  mutual  misfortunes. 

Undoubtedly,  virtuous  love  can  shed  a  charm 
over  pleasures  which  are  thus  mingled  with  bit- 
terness. But  Virginia  is  no  more,  yet  thos^ 
persons  still  live,  whom,  next  to  yourself,  she 
held  most  dear,  her  mother,  and  your  own,  whom 
your  inconsolable  affliction  is  bending  with  sor- 
row to  the  grave.  Place  your  happiness,  as 
she  did  hers,  in  affording  them  succor,  and  why 
deplore  the  fate  of  Virginia?  Virginia  still  exists. 
There  is,  be  assured,  a  region  in  which  virtue 
receives  its  reward.  Virginia  now  is  happy.' 

My  own  emotion  choaked  my  utterance. 
Paul,  looking  at  me  stedfastly,  cried  c  She  is  no 
more!  she  is  no  moref  and  a  long  fainting  fit 
succeeded  that  melancholy  exclamation.  When 
restored  to  himself,  he  said,  '  Since  death  is  a 
blessing,  and  since  Virginia  is  happy,  I  would 
die  too,  and  be  united  to  Virginia.'  Thus  the 
motives  of  consolation  I  had  offered,  only  served 
to  nourish  his  despair.  I  was  like  a  man  who 
attempts  to  save  a  friend  sinking  in  the  midst  of 
a  flood,  and  refusing  to  swim.  Sorrow  had 
overwhelmed  his  soul.  Alas!  the  misfortunes 
of  early  years  prepare  man  for  the  struggles  of 
life;  but  Paul  had  never  known  adversity. 

I  led  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling,  where  I 
found  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  a 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  141 

state  of  increased  languor,  but  Margaret 
drooped  most.  Those  lively  characters  upon 
which  light  afflictions  make  a  small  impression, 
are  least  capable  of  resisting  gfeat  calamities. 

'  Oh,  my  good  friend,'  said  Margaret,  '  me- 
thought  last  night  I  saw  Virginia  dressed  in 
white,  amid  delicious  bowers  and  gardens. 
She  said  to  me,  I  enjoy  the  most  perfect  happi- 
ness; and  then  approaching  Paul  with  a  smiling 
air,  she  bore  him  away.  While  I  struggled  to 
retain  my  son,  I  felt  that  I  myself  was  quitting 
the  earth,  and  that  I  followed  him  with  inex- 
pressible delight.  I  then  wished  to  bid  my 
friend  farewell,  when  I  saw  she  was  hastening 
after  me  with  Mary  and  Domingo.  But  what 
seems  most  strange  is,  that  Madame  de  la  Tour 
has  this  very  night  had  a  dream  attended  with 
the  same  circumstances.' 

*  My  dear  friend,'  I  replied,  l  nothing  I  be- 
lieve happens  in  this  world  without  the  permission 
of  God.  Dreams  sometimes  foretell  the  truth.' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  related  to  me  her  dream, 
which  was  exactly  similar;  and,  as  I  had  never 
observed  in  either  of  those  ladies  any  propensi- 
ty to  superstition,  I  was  struck  with  the  singular 
coincidence  of  their  dreams,  which  I  had  little 
doubt  would  be  soon  realized. 

What  I  expected,  took  place.  Paul  died  two 
months  after  the  death  of  his  Virginia,  whose 
name  dwelt  upon  his  lips  even  in  his  expiring 


142  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

moments.  Eight  days  after  the  death  of  her 
son,  Margaret  saw  her  last  hour  approach  with 
that  serenity  which  only  virtue  can  feel.  She 
bade  Madame  cfe  la  Tour  the  most  tender  fare-* 
well,  '  in  the  hope,'  she  said,  c  of  a  sweet  and 
eternal  Fe-union.'  '  Death  is  the  most  precious 
blessing,'  added  she,  '  and  we  ought  to  desire 
it.  If  life  be  a  punishment,  we  should  wish  for 
its  termination;  if  it  be  a  trial,  we  should  be 
thankful  that  it  is  short.' 

The  governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and 
Mary,  who  were  no  longer  able  to  labor,  and 
who  survived  their  mistresses  but  a  short  time. 
As  for  poor  Fidele,  he  pined  to  death  at  the  peri- 
od he  lost  his  master. 

I  conducted  Madame  de  la  Tour  to  my  dwell- 
ing, and  she  bore  her  calamities  with  elevated 
fortitude.  She  had  endeavored  to  comfort  Paul 
and  Margaret  till  their  last  moments,  as  if  she 
herself  had  had  no  agonies  to  bear.  When  they 
were  no  more,  she  used  to  talk  of  them  as  of 
beloved  friends  from  whom  she  was  not  distant. 
She  survived  them  but  one  month.  Far  from 
reproaching  her  aunt  for  those  afflictions  she 
had  caused,  her  benign  spirit  prayed  to  God  to 
pardon  her,  and  to  appease  that  remorse  which 
the  consequences  of  her  cruelty  would  probably 
awaken  in  her  breast. 

I  heard,  by  successive  vessels  which  arrived 
from  Europe,  that  this  unnatural  relation,  haunt- 


PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA.  143 

ed  by  a  troubled  conscience,  accused  herself 
continually  of  the  untimely  fate  of  her  lovely 
niece,  and  the  death  of  her  mother,  and  became 
at  intervals  bereft  of  her  reason. 

The  body  of  Paul  was  placed  by  the  side  of 
his  Virginia,  at  the  foot  of  the  same  shrubs,  and 
on  the  hallowed  spot,  the  remains  of  their  tender 
mothers  and  their  faithful  servants  were  laid. 
No  marble  covers  the  turf,  no  inscription  records 
their  virtues,  but  their  memory  is  engraven  upon 
our  hearts  in  characters  which  are  indelible: 
and  surely  if  those  pure  spirits  still  take  an 
interest  in  what  passes  upon  earth,  they  love  to 
wander  beneath  the  roofs  of  these  dwellings 
which  are  inhabited  by  industrious  virtue,  to  con- 
sole the  poor  who  complain  of  their  destiny,  to 
cherish  in  the  hearts  of  lovers  the  sacred  flame  of 
fidelity,  to  inspire  a  taste  for  the  blessings  of  na- 
ture, the  love  of  labor,  and  the  dread  of  riches. 

The  voice  of  the  people,  which  is  ©ften  silent 
with  regard  to  those  monuments  reared  to  flatter 
the  pride  of  kings,  has  given  to  some  parts  of 
this  island  names  which  will  immortalize  the 
loss  of  Virginia.  Near  the  isle  of  Amber,  in 
the  midst  of  sand  banks,  is  a  spot  called  the  Pass 
of  Saint-Geran,  from  the  name  of  the  vessel 
which  there  perished.  The  extremity  of  that 
point  'of  land,  which  is  three  leagues  distant, 
and  half  covered  by  the  waves,  and  which  the 
Saint-Geran  could  not  double  on  the  night  pre- 


144  PAUL    AND    VIRGINIA. 

ceding  the  hurricane,  is  called  the  Cape  of  Mis- 
fortune ;  and  before  us,  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  is 
the  Bay  of  the  Tomb,  where  Virginia  was  found 
buried  in  the  sand;  as  if  the  waves  had  sought  to 
restore  her  corpse  to  her  family,  that  they  might 
render  it  the  last  sad  duties  on  those  shores  of 
which  her  innocence  had  been  the  ornament. 

Ye  faithful  lovers,  who  were  so  tenderly  uni- 
ted!—  unfortunate  mothers!  —  beloved  family! 
those  woods  which  sheltered  you  with  their  foli- 
age, those  fountains  which  flowed  for  you,  those 
hillocks  upon  which  you  reposed,  still  deplore 
your  loss!  No  one  has  since  presumed  to  cul- 
tivate that  desolated  ground,  or  repair  those 
fallen  huts.  Your  goats  are  become  wild,  your 
orchards  are  destroyed,  your  birds  are  fled,  and 
nothing  is  heard  but  the  cry  of  the  sparrow- 
hawk,  who  skims  around  the  valley  of  rocks. 
As  for  myself,  since  I  behold  you  no  more,  I 
am  like  a  father  bereft  of  his  children,  like  a 
traveller  who  wanders  over  the  earth,  desolate 
and  alone.' 

In  saying  these  words,  the  good  old  man 
retired  shedding  tears,  and  mine  had  often  flowed 
during  this  melancholy  narration. 


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